


Beloved

by liliaeth, spikes_heart



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 66
Words: 175,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikes_heart/pseuds/spikes_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Powers that Be withdrew from the playing fields, they made one last move with their favorite pawns - leaving Angel to clean up their mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fly in Amber

**End of May, 2004**

Sitting at one end of a fully laden table, Buffy looked at the appetizers piled on the finest bone china sitting atop platinum charger plates, studied her matching platinum silverware, and wrangled with the finely woven silver linen napkin in her lap – patently avoiding her lover’s gaze as he sat at the other end. Only the best of everything life had to offer was laid out before her. A wide variety of catered pasta, meat and vegetable dishes filled every square inch of space in between them, yet nothing caught her fancy.

She twisted in her seat, gazing at the statues lining the walls. There were dozens of them, maybe more. Realistic portrayals of men, women, and children in one form of servitude or another; offering bowls of fresh or sculpted fruits or flowers.

She'd seen them many times over the past year and never given them a second thought, but for some reason, tonight they gave her the wiggins.

The Immortal had taken a bunch of grapes from one of the decorative platters and slowly suckled them into his mouth, one at a time, punctuated by a small pop as each one passed his lips. She quickly turned back to her meal.

With a delicate shudder, Buffy pushed the plate aside. She wasn't the least bit hungry; the very thought of spending more time with the Immortal than was necessary was making her physically ill.

She'd been looking for a way to break up with him for the past week, ever since he’d told her of the demise of both her vampire lovers in that flippant way of his; of his part in keeping their last visit to Italy secret. Knowing that they had both come to Rome, sought her out and were turned away with lies put her relationship with the Immortal in another perspective.

Whenever she tried to broach the subject, he either found somewhere else to be or tried to distract her with precious gifts. And they weren’t the kind she could just refuse. Books that Giles needed urgently; rare spell ingredients for Willow that were unavailable otherwise; a new dagger for Xander – one he’d been lusting after for weeks.

Yes, she was being toyed with. Buffy didn’t need her Slayer senses to figure that out, but the idea of being the one to end their relationship still twisted her stomach into knots. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to play out. They were supposed to leave her. They’d always left her in the past. Except… except she had left Spike. Twice. Once before acknowledging they were together, and once to die in the Hellmouth.

Gone was the sophisticated romance she thought they'd shared. Instead, she was being manipulated and treated like a five year old who could be distracted with a piece of shiny wrapping paper. Tonight was it. She would end whatever was left of their time together, and try to move on with her life. A life without…

"I'm sorry," Buffy blurted out. "It's not you, it's me. I knew what you were, or I thought I did. But I can't handle being with someone who could lie to me as you did."

He acted as if he hadn't even heard her, offering her a plate of pastries as if she'd told him she was going shopping.

Swallowing her temper, Buffy tried again. "I want... no, I need to go back home. To end this, this sham. What we have... what we've had... is over. Finito!"

"You knew about Angel's fight to the death with the Senior Partners. You knew that Spike had been resurrected, and lost again, and you never thought that I'd be interested enough to be told? I can't live with lies and half-truths anymore. I'm moving back home with Dawn."

"But mi amore…" Sincerity dripped from the Immortal’s full lips. His black eyes flashed with pain at her words. The perfect expression of imminent loss.

Buffy couldn’t help but stare deeply into the face of the man she thought she’d grown to love over the past few months. Tall, broad shouldered, swarthy complexion – the epitome of most Italian males, but somehow… more. Wavy black hair, perfect features; hard to resist for a lonely woman in a new country.

Now Buffy knew she had to be strong. She refused to let herself be pulled in by that honey sweet voice. If she did, she'd never be able to go through with this. She rose swiftly from her chair, turning for the hallway without a look backwards.

"What now, cara mia? Not even a kiss goodbye?"

Even though his tone was mocking, Buffy took a deep breath, turned, and walked back, resignation weighing heavily on her shoulders. One kiss to say goodbye; he deserved at least that, if not for her, then for the help that he had given her friends.

He touched her face, lifted her chin so she'd look in his eyes and smoothed a lock of hair away from her face; gently urging her closer. She guessed he was hoping to get one last chance to change her mind. It was already too late.

A flash of icy cold fear swept down her spine as Buffy found herself unable to move. Staring into the Immortal's face, she tried to plead her case, but to no avail. A bitter chill crept over her, starting at her lips, moving further up and down her body like a virus affecting each and every cell.

 _Please_ , her eyes begged. But he just smiled, stripped her methodically, and posed her hands modestly to cover her nudity; one arm across her breasts, one lower, fingers spanning across her sex.

He molded her like pliant clay, arranging her head just so, gazing slightly downwards in submission. For a finishing touch, he wrapped a small jeweled belt around her hips.

 _Stop it!_ she wanted to say, but was unable to utter a sound.

"Oh, mi amore, you'll be my ultimate work of art. A beauty to be treasured for all time, and a gift for Angelus that will finally break his filthy vampire heart."

She felt like she was slowly being submerged in sub-zero water as the ice slipped through her veins. 

_What have you done to me?_

Buffy knew the Immortal could hear her thoughts, yet all she received was a smile for her efforts. He walked out of her sight, returning shortly thereafter with a full length mirror.

The image reflected was that of a white marble statue; nothing human left except her hazel eyes.

"Don't worry, cara. I won't add you to my galleria. Soon I’ll send you to your lost love. Let the vampire take care of you until you realize whose heart you should have truly belonged to."

 _No!_ she cried, silently. Words were beyond her. And all that was left was emptiness and silence, until they placed her in a crate and took away even the light. She wondered if she would ever stop screaming.

The touch of his hand on her skin was the last thing she felt before her eyes glazed over and she was trapped in the darkness of the crate.

***

**Middle of May, 2005**

Awakened by his son's caterwauling, Angel became aware that someone was pounding on the lobby door.

He wished he could just do away Spike once and for all. Only he couldn't now, could he? The Powers had seen to it and it would be wrong. He just wished for a little one-on-one time with the Powers to give them a piece of his mind for a change. Was that so much to ask?

The youngster was dressed in blue cotton pajamas with yellow ducklings. He also wore rubber-treaded slippersocks to prevent slipping as he’d begun to walk. Angel nestled little William over his shoulder, rubbing his back vigorously to get him to stop crying and go back to sleep.

Damn the little bastard. One day he’d pay for this. Once he was old enough to know exactly what he'd done wrong, that was.

Not so gently placing the little boy back in his crib, listening for the sound of his steadying heartbeat as he drifted off into a deep sleep, Angel grabbed his robe and trudged down the stairs to see what had been delivered. Not that he could remember ordering anything, but maybe one of his crew had. He’d have to ask them when they returned to work on Monday.

A big, unmarked wooden crate stood in the entranceway. Angel took the proffered clipboard and signed for it, handing it back to the delivery man. When staring at it hadn’t resulted in it growing legs and walking into the hotel on its own, Angel sighed and picked up the crate. Hefting it onto his shoulder, he carried it inside. Vampire strength occasionally came in handy.

Whatever was inside was heavy and it shifted, making his hands slip along the sides of the crate - the wooden crate - embedding small splinters in the meat of his palms.

As it slipped through his fingers and slammed to the floor, Angel howled with frustration, more than pain, which was immediately followed by an eardrum shattering cry from upstairs. _Damn, that boy has ears like a vampire._

He grabbed a crowbar to pry open the crate. Part of his brain insisted that opening an unknown box was dangerous, especially after the Illyria incident, but who was he going to ask? Gunn? He no longer worked for him in gruntwork capacity. Not like there were that many people left that he could ask for help, what with Wesley gone.

No, that left only left one person with access to the information he might need: Rupert Giles, and the thought still left a bitter taste in his mouth after the last time he asked for help and was turned down, resulting in Fred’s death. Hopefully, just opening the crate alone wouldn’t destroy him and there’d be no need to contact the man.

The baby's cry had become more insistent, and Angel knew he'd have to fetch the little bratling before he'd have enough peace to check out the crate's contents. He ran up the stairs, hoping against hope that the boy hadn’t woken up Nina with his fussing. Balancing the need to keep the child safe and save his own hearing, the beleaguered vampire gathered little William in his arms, and along with his bouncy chair, they headed back downstairs to un-crate the potential disaster.

He had to force his way, not just through the wood, but through the packing material. Someone had tried to make sure that whatever was inside, wouldn't be broken during transport. Of course, whatever it was was encased in another crate, this one more like the packed Styrofoam that coddled all sorts of delicate merchandise these days.

He peeled off the enveloped taped to the front, addressed in an old fashioned hand to 'Angelus'.

As soon as he recognized the writing, he was ready to drop the letter. The only thing that stopped him from doing so was his own curiosity. He opened the envelope carefully, as if it were dipped in holy water, trying not to smell it. He didn't want to have Buffy's relationship with that hellspawn forced into his face once again.

_What does one give an old friend to commemorate an engagement? A little memento from time spent with a mutual acquaintance. May you and your future bride enjoy this little look into your past._

_Good luck with your upcoming nuptials._

_Ciao,  
The Immortal_

Angel broke down the inner crate, not overly careful about destroying whatever was inside. If it came from the Immortal, it couldn't be anything good.

Angel was distracted by a gleeful laugh from William. He was staring avidly at the statue his father had just un-crated.

The thing was nigh perfect, a study of Buffy down to her very toenails. A very _naked_ Buffy. What the hell was the Immortal playing at?

"Are you coming back to bed, honey?" Nina's tired voice called from upstairs. He had hoped the baby's cries wouldn't have awakened her, but it appeared luck wasn't with him today.

She came down the stairs and noticed him practically fondling the statue. Nina stared with a sense of awe as she saw it, touching it and feeling the texture of the stone. Being an artist herself, she was appreciative of the workmanship that had gone into it.

"Lovely!" she exclaimed. Her brow furrowed upon closer inspection. "Isn't this a statue of the girl… Buffy, wasn’t it? The one who was murdered last year?" 

"Yes..."

Angel removed the rest of the packing materials from the statue and set it on its wooden base on the floor. "He's planning something…" he whispered, far too quietly for Nina to hear the words.

There had to be something more about this, after everything that happened, Wolfram and Hart, Wesley and Fred dying, Spike... There was no way that this was just a gift.

“Who sent you this masterpiece? It was obviously done by someone who cared for her very much.” Nina walked around the statue, examining it from all angles. “It's so well done you almost feel the life in it.”

Thunderstruck, Angel stopped dead in his tracks. "What did you say?"

His hand touched the marble and he felt... he almost flinched away before he had to try again. There was a heartbeat underneath the marble, it was almost unnoticeable, except to a vampire's senses and he froze at the probable meaning of it.

Nina didn't understand and seemed almost affronted at his reaction to the statue, yet all Angel could think about was Buffy; whispering her name over and over. But of course she didn't answer.

 

It took him hours before he could bring himself to call Giles for help. Several more before he was put through and found Giles barely willing to listen to him. 

What changed the tide were the two words Angel managed to spit out before the Watcher could hang up on him: "Buffy's alive."

"Good God, Angel. Don't you have anything better to do than play games with her grieving family?"

"Do you think I didn't grieve? Do you really think I'd play games with something like that?"

William started crying again, responding to the anger in Angel's voice. Angel quickly picked him up, trying to calm him down. When that didn’t work, he handed the boy off to Nina, who managed to distract him with a nursery rhyme and a walk around the statue.

"Is that a baby I hear? What is this, another prophesy child?" Giles voice rose in register with each question.

Angel made his goodbyes abruptly after requesting Giles’ help, and quickly hung up the phone without discussing the child. With any luck, he would never have to know about William.

Angel continued staring at Buffy, trying to find some way, any way to get her out of the marble. He didn't dare to just break it, doing so might harm her even more. He'd put the child down on the floor and the boy was constantly underfoot. Not that that was something new.

At just a few days shy of being one year old, William maneuvered his chair rapidly about the floor like a drunken driver, constantly getting in-between his father's legs and grabbing on for support. Each time Angel moved him out of his path, William came back, giggling happily.

The baby found his way to Buffy's statue and patted her legs. He pulled his hands away quickly as if he'd been shocked, letting out a squawk of indignation.

Angel quickly picked him up out of his chair and pulled him away. He couldn't quite say if it was worry for the child, or a sense of jealousy of Will touching her once again, and felt oddly uneasy that the thought entered his mind at all.  
.  
As soon as Angel walked away from the statue, Will began to howl. Tears ran down his little cheeks and he looked for all the world as if his heart were breaking.

Angel frantically ran his hand over his boy, thinking that he'd cut his hands on a sharp piece of stone, but found no injuries. Yet no matter how he tried, Will would not be soothed. A bit of inspiration had Angel change into gameface, hoping that it would work for Will as well as it had for Connor. The youngster looked at him, but wouldn't stop crying.

As they passed closer to the marble figure, Will nearly lunged out of his embrace, reaching out to touch it.

"No, no, Will," Angel scolded gently. "No touch.” As he kissed each little finger, he murmured: “It hurt you, remember?” 

The boy chewed lightly on his lower lip, producing that pout which was at once new as it was far too familiar. William might or might not have deserved _his_ reward, but Angel was sure he hadn't deserved this punishment; this constant reminder of his erstwhile pain in the ass grandchilde.

He sighed, realizing he'd better get over his disappointment and resentment if he was going to do right by this child. It might not be fair, but it was the way it was.

And it wouldn't hurt that Nina was getting more involved with him. If they were going to be married by next year, she'd be Will's mother full time, not only on weekends. The only mother he'd ever know.

"Dada."

Will's first word snapped Angel out of his reverie, and in spite of his reticence to feel anything for the boy in his arms, his heart melted just the slightest bit. "That's right, little one. For better or worse, I'm your Da."

 

The sound of a clearing throat behind him made Angel turn swiftly, nearly dropping Will when he noticed who was standing there.

"So it appears I'm not going deaf in my dotage," Giles said, his expression carefully neutral. "You’ve fathered yet another child. Who is the mother this time?"

Angel pulled Will closer to his chest, trying to hide the boy’s face. It didn’t seem like a good idea to let the council know that William the Bloody was now a helpless human child. "Nobody you'd know," he replied, trying to keep himself under tight control. He didn't want to show how much Giles being here upset him;

"How nice of you to pop in unannounced," Angel ground out through tightly gnashed teeth. "Let me get the boy settled and I'll be right with you."

He used the few moments it took to bring the boy to Nina to compose himself. Angel knew Giles had teleported with the express purpose of unsettling him. Ever since Angelus had made the scene, their relationship was beyond repair. Each passing year just made the situation worse until it came to a head over Fred’s death. But he needed the man’s advice now... he owed that much to Buffy. And he knew that Giles loved the girl more than - or almost more than - anyone else.

By the time Angel returned to the lobby, Giles was studying the statue, trying to hold back his tears. The vampire wondered if he’d caught on to the reality behind the marble.

"Did you have this commissioned after Buffy's demise?" he asked, his voice constricted with the effort of staying calm and in control.

"Look closer, Giles."

Giles looked back as if he were daft.

"Wait." Angel said. He went to his office and picked up one of Wesley's old stethoscopes. It always amazed him how well prepared the man had been for most any situation.

After a few seconds of indecision, Giles finally brought the stethoscope to the statue. Angel watched as he flinched back, astonished.

"Bloody hell!"

Giles touched the marble with reverence. "Buffy? Can you hear me?"

Not a sound, of course; the stone was silent.

Angel shuddered, remembering when Cordelia had been trapped in her visions, seeing and feeling an overwhelming multitude of events at the same time, yet unable to respond to anything around her, frozen in pain and terror. Frozen … like marble. But Buffy still lived. A true miracle. Now the trick would be to free her from her marble prison

"How did she get here?" the shaken Watcher murmured.

Slumping down onto the circular couch, Angel fished around in his pocket. He didn’t trust his voice to answer, and held out the Immortal's note with a shaky hand.

Giles’ glare grew cold.

***

It was odd, Buffy thought, swimming back slowly to consciousness. Feeling like she was submerged in water, or wrapped up in cotton, her senses were dulled, but she could both see and hear. Where was she? And who was talking? Damn that Immortal to hell, anyway. He should have just killed her and been done with it.

She looked around the room at least as far as her limited field of vision would allow. Everything was hazy – as if someone had tied a silk scarf over her eyes – clear enough to see shadows, but too dark for details.

The voices got progressively louder and more recognizable as she began to see two shapes coming closer.

“He always has to have the last word, always has to go after my women.”

 _Oh yeah, that had to be Angel. But who was he talking to?_ Buffy wondered

“How dare you?”

_Giles? What would bring them together now? Neither man could stand the other!_

“The Immortal has always gone out of his way to prove he's the top dog. He went after Darla and Dru just to piss us... me, off”

_She could almost see Giles taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his hanky, furiously enough to wear a hole in the lenses._

“You're, you're incredible. Buffy is frozen in marble and all you can say is he might have done this to piss you off? Don't you ever consider you might not be the center of the universe?”

“It's the Immortal. What other reason would he have to do this?” Angel threw his hands in the air. “We have… history!”

 _Why that egotistical vampire…_ Buffy really wished she could punch him in his self-centered face.

"Look, Giles. It doesn't matter why that soulless bastard did this to Buffy. What does matter is undoing it."

 _That's more like it_ , Buffy thought. _Get me the hell out of here. My nose itches._

"Did you ever follow up on Buffy’s death, or did you just take it on that fiend’s word that she was dead?"

Giles stopped his pacing and stared at the seated vampire. “Yes, right. He said she was gone and we all threw a party. What do you think, you pillock? The Immortal's flat was investigated, and they found blood... Buffy's blood. And his statement that he'd disposed of her body... wait, he said 'and she's gone from you all, now. No trace will be found.' It was two days after we found out about your rout at the hands of the Senior Partners.”

“We've had the coven on the lookout for him ever since, but there's been no clue as to where he is. For as long as he's been alive, I'm sure he's got plenty of bolt holes - he won't be found until he wants to be.”

Angel forced himself to calm down, he had no choice but to agree. William was still crying upstairs and it was getting on his last nerve. Between the Buffy situation, Giles and the screaming child, he was swiftly losing control of his temper

He could hear Nina singing to the boy, but the crying wouldn’t stop. Nina wasn’t exactly comfortable with all aspects of parenting, having just been dropped into the boy’s life several months ago, and she tried her best, but now was not the time to exercise patience. The vampire excused himself to go upstairs and take the matter into his own hands.

He didn't notice until he was holding Will that Giles had followed him up.

"Come on Will, you've eaten already, you’re not wet, you’re not dirty…what more do you want from me?"

"A first birthday party?" Nina muttered under her breath, knowing those super-powered vampire ears would pick up on it.

Angel glared at her, They'd talked about it a dozen times already. Will wouldn't remember it, there was no use for it and it wasn’t like they knew any other couples with babies...yet. Gunn’s wife, Anne, was six months pregnant, but that didn’t count.

"It's his first birthday, Angel.” Nina crossed her arms over her chest and glared right back at him. “I don't give a damn whether he'll know what's going on now or not. What if in a few years, he looks through the photo albums and thinks we didn't care enough to give a party?”

"But..."

"I don't care who he used to be. He's an innocent kid now and he deserves a party."

Giles cleared his throat, announcing his presence. "What do you mean, 'who he used to be'?"

“None of your business.” Angel pulled Will closer to his chest. The boy was still crying, "Dada" interspersed with sobbing.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you? He’s a year old, and a year ago Buffy disappeared,” Giles insisted. “Who is he Angel? If this has anything to do with Buffy...”

Glaring at Giles, Angel snarled, barely keeping his gameface in check. "This has nothing to do with Buffy. It's about the unfairness of the universe. It's about the Powers playing their mind-fuck games one last time and taking away the one damn thing I'd dared to hope for."

Angel thrust the crying child into Giles' arms. "This is my son, William Matthew Jamison Pratt, previously known to you as William the Bloody." 

Giles stood there, stunned, staring at the boy with disbelief and not a little bit of fear in his eyes. Oddly enough, it was at that point that Will finally decided to stop crying.

William stared at Giles, quietly snuffling as his tears stopped. Reaching out one chubby little hand, he grabbed at Giles' glasses, sending them to the floor with a shriek of delight.

Angel didn't bother to apologize, just reached around Nina’s waist and brought her to his side for support.

Giles held the baby out in front of him, studying him. Angel wondered if Giles could recognize those way too blue eyes; whether Giles could see that all too familiar twinkle in those eyes.

"Spike... but how?"

Giles held the boy in one arm and picked up his glasses, Will kept grabbing for Giles' hair. 

_Better Giles than me,_ Angel thought to himself. "You remember that little Shanshu prophesy Wesley helped uncover all those years ago?"

Giles nodded, never taking his eyes off the little boy playing happily in his arms.

"Seems the Powers that Be decided the other souled vampire was more 'worthy' than I was, and poof, your newest champion was transformed several days after the battle in the alley."

Still fighting to keep his human mask, Angel continued, bitterly. "Just one last little joke for them to play on me before deciding they no longer gave a damn about me."

Giles looked at him, then at Will, and started laughing. His whole demeanor changed as he burst into giggles. "Oh, Angel. You poor old sod. This was the carrot keeping you on the straight and narrow? And they handed it over to the one vampire who wouldn't give a damn? Jolly good sense of humor, indeed."

Will hopped up and down in Giles' arms, giggling along with him. His happiness was infectious, causing Nina to chuckle quietly.

Angel, however, was not so happy. “Nina, get the boy out of here,” he yelled. “Take him shopping – get him something for his birthday, but no way in hell are we having a party for him. I - I have to get out of here. I'll see you and Giles later."

He slammed out of the room, heading downstairs to Buffy. He couldn't bring himself to touch her, could barely bring himself to look at her. She would have understood. He was sure she would.

Gathering his reserve and coat, he tore out of the lobby, coattails flapping in the breeze.

***

_God, what a freakin’ Drama Queen!_


	2. Ties That Bind

**Two Days Later – William’s First Birthday**

Angel could almost imagine the past three and a half years hadn't happened. That the baby cooing behind him was Connor; the woman laughing and making him smile was Cordelia. The illusion fell apart when he turned around and it was Nina, playing with Will.

He loved Nina, he really did. She was gorgeous, talented, an out of control demon locked away for three days a month, and willing to put up with raising and loving a child that wasn't her own., everything a souled vampire could hope for in a woman and yet... 

Then she smiled at him and his still heart suffused with warmth. Angel wrapped his arms around Nina’s shoulders, placing butterfly kisses along the side of her neck. She sputtered a bit, but turned her head slightly, finding his lips and allowing herself to get lost for a moment before remembering the task at hand.

"Oh you wicked demon!” Nina laughed, swatting at her fiancé with a floury spatula. “Don't you try and distract me, mister. You know I've still got a birthday cake to try and bake!"

“How about forgetting the cake altogether,” he wheedled. “…and slipping away for a quickie before...”

Nina’s good mood abruptly vanished. “That’s enough, Angel. We've been through this before - it's Will's first birthday, and it's going to be acknowledged. By you! In all the ways a first birthday is celebrated, and that includes a cake made by his mother and time spent with his father. Now get out of here and let me bake - before I think not so very fond thoughts of you. Like wouldn't it be nice if Angel slept on the couch for a change? And take Will with you. He doesn’t need to be cooped up in his highchair watching me when he has a perfectly unencumbered father to play with.”

Seeing that he wasn’t getting anywhere in his quest for a little morning fun-time with his now unhappy fiancée, Angel relented and grabbed Will from his highchair. “Come on, bratling. Let’s go see if they’ve made any progress with freeing Buffy.”

He didn’t notice the scowl on Nina’s face, nor hear the soft growl that escaped her tightly clenched lips. 

 

Angel turned toward the sound of voices coming down the main stairway.

"I still don't understand why you couldn't have come sooner, Willow. It's not like you to take the long way around things."

Willow didn't answer, apparently caught in a memory. 

"Willow?" “Giles snapped his fingers, trying to rouse his companion.

Startled, the witch nearly dropped her armload of books. "Th-that’s not the way I do things anymore, Giles, and you know it. Because I used to make that mistake in judgment all the time, and I know now it would have been wrong. There was no reason for you to teleport, either. Who knows what magicks are in place around Buffy to keep her statuefied? Even a simple teleportation spell could have been disastrous for her."

Giles reached out to gently grasp her shoulder. "Now you know what happened with Kennedy wasn't really your fault," he said, kindly.

"Wasn't it? Ken told me to stay back – that there was no need for magic – but I knew better than her." Willow made her way down the stairs, putting her books down in front of Buffy. "She told me magic would not only be useless, it would be dangerous. But I was so sure that I could protect my woman that I really didn’t pay her much heed. I was confident in my abilities, and that was it, so I pretty much blocked out what Kennedy was saying. I knew I could do this and it almost ended up costing Ken her life."

Angel trembled from the intensity of the pain in her voice. He put Will down in his playpen and sat next to him, quietly watching the story unfold before him.

"She might never get out of that wheelchair because of my arrogance," Willow insisted.

Amazement showed on the Watcher's weary face. "I don't believe this," he murmured. "How many years did I try and bash that into your pretty head and get nothing but sarcasm and disdain for all my efforts? Care and respect for all things magical, I preached. And Tara, too, tried to get you to temper your reckless use of magic. When did the student finally outshine the teacher?"

"When Kennedy refused to even look at me after... the incident. I still tried to make excuses, make apologies... Ken was the first person who didn't let me get away with them." Willow ignored his outraged splutters and looked around for Angel, spotting him towards the back of the room with Will.

"The first one…?" Giles snorted. "Nevermind that nonsense. We're both – all – here now, and need to get on with rescuing Buffy. Angel... should we set up right here in the lobby, or perhaps move this to a more secure location?"

"The lobby'll be fine. Just try not to set the place on fire. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve had to redecorate thanks to spells going whacko. "

Giles didn't have a clue as to what the vampire was going on about and Angel wasn't about to go into details. Memories of the bloody pentagon on the lobby floor and the temporal rift he’d opened haunted him still.

Angel watched the proceedings half-heartedly. It couldn't be this easy; a spell. He knew the way his unlife went that something had to happen to make things hellish.

 

Willow began by sprinkling herbs in a carefully formed circle around Buffy and then dressed the herbs with some kind of liquid while Giles struck the small, animal skin-covered drum with the flat of his hand that he’d requisitioned from Council resources whenever she paused.

 

Suddenly, the lobby doors burst open, revealing Gunn and his very pregnant wife, Anne, loaded down with balloons, brightly wrapped presents, and shopping bags from a local restaurant.

"Yo, Angel! Time to get this party started, bro. Where's my little monkey-boy?"

"Ucca! Ucca!" Happy shrieks rang from the back of the lobby.

"There’s my birthday boy!" Gunn called out as he strode towards the child, passing all other goings on with a blind eye.

Will pulled himself up on the mesh side of the playpen and held out his hands for Gunn to pick him up. The father-to-be put down his packages and snatched the child from his nest, delight shining from his warm brown eyes as Will patted him about the face. He laughed as he set the boy down, watching as Will took one unsteady step, then another, while in the background Willow started to chant and Giles just... beat his drum.

"Ucca! " Will called out as his bottom hit the floor. There was something to be said for the cushioning of diapers on a soft human tush.

A flash went off as Gunn enveloped the boy in his broad arms, hugging Will to his chest. Anne quietly took pictures to record the day for posterity.

 

Angel rolled his eyes. "Ucca," his vampire ass. Only one year old and Will already knew exactly who to take advantage of. The fact that Gunn always brought some kind of gift for the brat didn't really help matters, either. Nothing big – just a bit of candy; a small cereal box type toy – just something for Will to play with for a few seconds before he was pulled in by some other shiny bit.

"Damn it, Gunn," Angel fumed. "You know I didn't want this. He's just a baby. He doesn't have the slightest clue what all the fuss is about. Not to mention we have other, more important things going on right now and can't afford the disruption."

"More important than a first birthday? Man, you must be joking. Hell, my dad saved for months to have a decent birthday cake when Alonna turned one. See, Anne? I told you Big and Broody wouldn't bother." Gunn snorted, digging his fingers gently into Will's belly, eliciting happy giggles. "Good thing the vamp has friends, or he'd fade into the woodwork."

Anne just smiled, making Angel wonder how she could even look at William. Hadn't he tried to kill her once? It grated on his nerves until he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

"I'm sure Gunn's told you exactly who it is you're both fawning over, Anne," he pushed. "Right? Wasn't I there during that vampire club disaster you were involved in? Didn't Spike rip a chunk out of your throat?" he sneered. "I just don't get all this lovey dovey devotion to a monster."

The woman looked at him with pity in her eyes. "That's the problem, isn't it, Angel? You still see that sweet little boy as Spike, the evil vampire. He’s just William, a one year old innocent baby. He's been given another chance to live a good life. When will you get that? When will you give him the chance everyone else has?"

Angel turned away from her, unable to answer… even though he knew she was right.

 

The chanting and drum beating grew louder, finally seeming to attract Gunn's attention. "What's up with the witch doctors? Trying to bring your pottery to life?" he chuckled, still looking more at William than Angel.

"It's not pottery" Angel grumbled, turning back to Giles. If he'd been wearing his coat, it would have swirled around like a bullfighter’s cape.

"Where's Nina?" Gunn asked.

Angel shrugged. "She's in the kitchen, wasting time trying to bake a cake."

Putting Will back into his playpen, Gunn gathered the party supplies and handed them to his wife. Anne smiled, dropped a kiss on Will’s forehead and went into the kitchen to join her friend.

"All right, let's see what's got your undies in a bunch." Gunn walked over to the statue, staying out of Willow's and Giles' way, taking care not to mess up the herb circle surrounding the statue.

Angel was about to warn him to steer clear, when am explosion sounded.

"Presenti! Presenti! Fuoriesca la vostra prigione di pietra.!"* Willow’s voice rang loud and determined throughout the lobby as flames jumped up along the herbed circle around Buffy.

_Crap! After he’d specifically asked her not to set the lobby on fire._

"Whoa, guys. Wasn't gonna take your toys away. So who's the statue of, anyway, and why the hoo-doo voo-doo?"

"Her name is Buffy," Angel replied softly, his attention focused on the marble statue; his eyes full of hope and trepidation as the emerald flames grew ever higher and brighter  
.  
"What the hell kind of name is Bu... no! You dawg! You have a son, a fiancée willing to take you both on, and you're still pinin' over the ex?"

"It's not like that,” Angel insisted. “She's trapped inside of the stone... the Immortal’s responsible. If that were Fred, wouldn't you do the same?"

Gunn looked at Angel as if he’d grown a third head. 

"She's still alive, damn it, but stone. Giles and Willow are trying to release her."

Gunn stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Cool. I’m gonna go play with Willy-boy. You have fun bringin' back Barbie."

 

Angel stared down at the ground, looking past William and Gunn - not really seeing the boy at all as he babbled to his stuffed animals, blocks and his “Ucca”. Trying to reconcile the different parts of his life gave him a headache. On the one hand, he’d been relatively happy. Nina was good for him. She brought life and a bit of color into his otherwise black and white world.

Then there was Spike... William. Damn it, he still couldn't find the fairness in this deal. Another twenty years where William Pratt was totally dependent on his good graces, even moreso than the first time around.

And nobody wanted to cut him any slack. Anne was unbelievable, forgetting that Spike nearly caused her death... just like... no, he could barely say it. Buffy would _never_ let him get that close. She was just war-stressed when she said he was in her heart.

It's not like she'd cared all that much about his life, if she did. She never would have made him wear that amulet, otherwise. She’d used him just like any other ant in an army. Cannon fodder. Let him take out some of the vamps and then distract him long enough that he wouldn't try to escape while he still had the chance.

Angel didn't bother to think that if Buffy were capable of acting that way, she wouldn't be half the woman he'd thought she was. Nor did he stop and think for one moment that he'd been willing to sacrifice himself in that same Hellmouth. He wondered if the amulet would have dusted him the way it did Spike. Since it was meant for him in the first place, surely he'd have survived it, right? Being the better vamp? He didn't even want to think about Spike's second… no, third death. The one where he'd almost respected the bastard, right before he stole everything Angel had ever cared about.

It just felt like his soul wasn't his only curse. Maybe this was the powers' way to keep him from feeling perfectly happy ever, ever again. _Maybe he should celebrate this birthday_ , he mused. _One year closer to getting rid of the bastard._

***

Buffy felt the oddest buzzing sensation throughout her body – sort of like everything had fallen asleep. Very different from the periods of feeling nothing.

Last thing she remembered was Angel stomping out of the room in a tizzy, and now the room was full of other people making noise. If she concentrated, she could hear a drum banging close by, and... Willow? Some foreign phrases... _oh goody, must be some kind of magic. That always goes well_.

She suddenly found herself surrounded by a ring of green flames. She wanted to scream for help, but of course was unable to do so.

The drumbeat intensified and Giles came into sight.

"Help me!" she screamed. She didn't realize her words echoed in the room around her.

The sound of Buffy's voice had all the adults turn immediately towards the statue. No change - still a solid piece of marble. Giles continued to beat his drum, albeit gently and continuously. Willow's chanting was so low as to be nearly indiscernible.

"Please, it hurts." sounded again; the words came out almost mangled. It wasn't until Angel smelled blood, that he looked at Will and noticed the boy’s nose was bleeding heavily. "Please, stop!" Hazel eyes – Buffy’s eyes – looked up at him from a teary face that usually sported blue.

As he reached for the boy, the tiny figure seized, convulsions wracking his small frame. Angel grabbed him before the boy could hurt himself falling.

"Please... stop!" Will cried again, Buffy's voice issuing from the boy’s lips.

As Will's oddly colored eyes rolled back into his head, he went limp; a strong smell of ammonia assaulting Angel's sense of smell as he lost control of his bladder, almost overpowering the coppery tinge of the boy's blood.

In the background, the sound of shattering glass was heard.

He heard Gunn running into the lobby, Anne screaming, wind whipping up all around them and all Angel could do was hold on to Will and try to keep him safe, keep him from hurting himself as the spasms hit harder and closer together.

It took quite a lot of strength to hold onto the baby. For a moment, Angel forgot he resented Will, and hoped the spasms wouldn't hurt his frail human body

Hearing Buffy's voice crying "Stop, please!" from Will's mouth as he shook and bled had driven all rational thought from Angel's mind.

“Hang on, kid,” Angel growled, holding Will tighter to his chest. “Don’t you dare leave me, boy.”

He barely registered Gunn's frantic shouts of "Damn it! Somebody stop that danged spell!" in the background, until the wind finally slowed, and Will's body was lax in his arms once more; the boy's bloody nose slowing to a trickle before the bleeding stopping altogether.

"What the hell was that?" Angel yelled. Nina clung to his arm, just as shocked as he was.

"Oh, Goddess!" Willow exclaimed, running over to the crowd around the playpen. "Is he all right?"

"No thanks to you." Angel held the boy close. He wasn't even sure why he cared so much. All he knew was that his boy had been hurt. Nobody under his protection got hurt. Not anymore.

"But... but... you begged me to try and save Buffy! That's all I did," the witch insisted. "The baby wasn't part of the spell at all. Honest!" She reached out to stroke Will's forehead, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair from his eyes.

"I know you all hated Spike, but he's an innocent now." Angel found himself practically growling "Anyone that tries to harm him, deals with me. Get it?"

Giles stepped in front of the irate vampire. "Come now, old man. Be reasonable. If you're talking about hatred towards Spike, you lead the bandwagon. Willow's done nothing wrong - I checked and double checked her spell before we began." Brow furrowed with thought, he continued. "Maybe there's something else involved here - some kind of tie or link that's allowed Buffy to speak through the boy?"

"What link could he possibly have with her? Even vampires don't put that much emphasis on sex."

"Angel, I'm trying to cover all possibilities here," the Watcher placated. "As much as I hate to admit it, myself, Spike and Buffy shared a very intimate..."

Angel growled.

"...relationship, and I'm not referring to their sexual trysts. The year leading up to Spike's sacrifice on the Hellmouth was intense, to say the least. I'd lectured Buffy on their emotional ties and dependent nature ad infintum, though you can imagine how well that went over."

"Maybe we can try it again." Willow whispered. She backed off when Angel glared at her, but opened her mouth again. "We could be more careful, check over the spell or something, but this way we could at least try to communicate with Buffy. Maybe she knows of some way to save her?"

Willow almost broke off before she was halfway through the sentence. "We wouldn't do it if it hurt the boy, but... if there's some kind of connection..."

"Get out!" Angel dropped into gameface. "Now!"

Nina laid her hand on her fiance's arm, trying to gentle him. "Give me the baby, hon. I need to bathe him and change his clothes. You need to calm down and work things out with your friends."

With a whimper as Nina reached out for him, Will's eyes opened, normal blue coloration showing once more.

"Mama," he whined, then joyfully as if he'd just discovered the most fun thing in the world, he repeated the word over and over again. “Mama! Mamamamamamamama,” he babbled.

Nina just giggled with him, tickling his tummy as they went up the stairs. Angel couldn't help stare after both of them. _Mama_ \- the mother of his son. For that instant, even though it wouldn't last, Nina was the only woman that mattered to him and just the idea of having a little family felt like heaven.

He shook his head to clear the fantasy image from his mind. "I - I'm sorry for the outburst. I'm sure you did your best, Willow," Angel sighed, noting the witch's hang-dog expression. "I think we need to rethink our efforts and methods. Something that won't attack William."

"Agreed," Giles chimed in. "Perhaps some distance will be a good thing, as well. We could take Buffy back with us - where we'll have access to all the Council's information we can find, as well as the coven, and..."

"No!" Angel snarled. "No way! Buffy stays right where she is."

"She's a slayer. I don't think the council would approve of us leaving their most senior slayer in the hands of a vampire."

The coldness hit Angel like an icepick through the heart. That's all he was to them, wasn't he? Just a vampire.

“That’s right, Giles. Just a vampire. One who has no feelings for this particular slayer.” His tone had become deadly calm. “As William had no feelings for this particular slayer. I think we both have more of a tie to her than you or the damned Council she’d reviled for years, even if it’s now under your leadership. I’m sorry I brought you into this at all.”

"Giles! Angel! You're not helping! This is about Buffy and what's best for her, not about settling some damned pissing contest that you guys should have settled years ago if you weren't being brats and I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell, but you're acting childish and god I thought I'd gotten rid of that babbling thing." Willow glared from Watcher to vampire, holding them steady with the intensity in her blazing green eyes.

Nodding her head in agreement, Anne stuck her two cents in. “Willow’s right, guys. Buffy isn’t anyone’s property. She’s not a prize to be won at the county fair, either. Right now, it’s not hurting anyone to have her stay here, at the hotel.

Angel looked around the room. Giles was furious, Willow merely unhappy. Gunn and Anne seemed neutral, more on his side out of the loyalty due to a long association than belief in his conviction. The relief he felt when Nina came back downstairs and wrapped her arms around his waist was palpable.

“Will’s asleep, hon. All cleaned up with nary a scratch to show for the earlier ordeal,” Nina offered. “Pretty blue eyes, little boy babble – all back to normal, it seems.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, unaware of the tension in the room.

Gods above and below, but he was grateful for this woman.

Finally, Giles stepped forward. “Look, Angel… I still feel that Buffy would be better off with us, but we’ll continue to research as long as you promise to take the proper precautions here and not place the statue in any undue jeopardy.”

“And I promise we won’t cast any spells without discussing things with you first.” Willow’s contrite expression spoke for her sincerity. “I’m glad Spike… erm, Will, is okay. He’s a very cute baby. Doesn’t look like you at all.”

“It’s been a long day, Willow,” Giles said, pushing her forward with a hand at the small of her back. “Let’s go upstairs and pack before… well, before any of us say something… inflammatory. Goodnight, all. We’ll be taking the Council’s jet back tomorrow morning.” Not waiting for anything further to be said, they headed upstairs to their rooms.

“You sure know how _not_ to throw a party, dude.” Gunn slapped Angel on the back as he and Anne made for the door. “We’ll talk, soon. Just take care of the boy, will you? He’s good people.”

Once they were alone, Nina and Angel made their way to the kitchen for some coffee and blood.


	3. No Vampire is an Island

Arm-in-arm and hip-to-hip, Nina and Angel stared down at the misshapen little cake on the table. Dark chocolate cake covered with whipped cream. Mounds and mounds of whipped cream, slathered on in an attempt to even out the lopsided layers.

Angel sighed. “I’m sorry, Nina.”

“Sorry for what, exactly?” Nina refused to let the blanket apology stand. I would be too easy to let her man get away with it again.

“Sorry for not realizing just how important this little celebration was to you?” he tried.

Nina tapped her foot, not so patiently waiting for more.

“… or f-for William.” He almost made it through smoothly.

As she sighed., Angel brushed his fingers through Nina’s hair, their faces almost touching. “I know I haven’t exactly been…”

“A father?”

His answer was nothing more than a subtle nod of his head. Angel pulled a chair away from the table and slumped down onto it, trying to compose his thoughts and having a miserable time of it.

“It’s just… it’s just that it’s _Spike!_ ” _As if that wasn’t explanation enough for anyone._

Nina’s expression hardened. “Get over it, Angel. You’re an adult, and Will is a baby. An innocent in this world – something you’re supposed to cherish.”

“I know,” he finally admitted. “It’s just hard to break the habit of a lifetime.” He reached out for the proffered cup of coffee, complete with sugar and milk, and picked up a spoon to stir.

“Does this have to do with Connor,” Nina offered, holding up her hand at the signs of his immediate denial. “Maybe you’re feeling disloyal to your _biological_ son if you show any affection towards your _adopted_ son. Honestly Angel, there’s more than enough love in your heart for both boys. Why don’t we call Connor and let him know about Will? I’ll bet it will be a load off your shoulders.”

“But what if he thinks…?”

Again, Nina stopped him from speaking, by placing a finger on his lips – a finger covered in whipped cream swiped from the little cake.

He suckled her finger into his mouth, purring around the cream covered digit. “Way to take my mind off all of this non…”

With a growl that had Angel’s demon sit up and take notice, Nina pulled her finger out of his mouth. “Damn it, Angel!”

“Come on now, Nina. Just a little playtime?” he pouted, nearly crushing the spoon in his grip trying to tamp down his frustration.

“I’ve had enough of this. I’m leaving. It’s obvious you’re not taking this matter seriously.”

“Nina! No, please,” he begged, only releasing her when he saw her wince in his grip. “I can’t do this without you.”

The panicked look in his eyes was almost enough to undo her anger… but not quite. “I love you, Angel,” she soothed. “And it’s been very easy to fall in love with that little boy. It just breaks my heart that you won’t open up to him. I can’t stay here and watch you leech the joy out of his little face.”

“I don’t hate Spike, I just… I don’t know what I feel about him.” If Angel had to be honest with himself, he never had. He’d forced himself to hate the younger vampire for so long, that it was hard to admit that he didn’t.

_From the time Drusilla first brought the boy home, he’d felt an attraction for William that bordered on the obsessive. Darla was none too happy about it and threatened to dust the younger vampire every other day until it waned. The hatred made it easier, and over the course of time became habitual. William merely had to walk into the room for Angel’s hackles to rise, and that course continued unabated until just before the fight in the alley._

“Will takes his cues from you,” Nina pushed. “He needs feedback, Angel. He smiles and laughs when he looks at you, and all he sees is the great stoneface. Pretty soon, he’s going to stop trying to make you happy.”

 _Like William had the first time around, over a century ago, even as far as losing his name. It’s my fault all over again. I’ll destroy another innocent soul._ “Please stay, Nina. In fact, why don’t you move in, full time? Not for William… not _just_ for the boy. I hate to watch you walk out the door when the weekend is over.”

“Angel, I… I can’t. What about Amanda and Jill?”

“I’m not asking you to move to Outer Mongolia. Your family is welcome here anytime. It’ll be our home; yours and mine. It’s just,” he paused, trying to keep his thoughts straight. “We’re going to be married next Spring. Why don’t we get used to being a family twenty-four/seven a little early?”

“Are we?”

“Are we, what?”

“Still getting married. What with her…” Nina looked through the door, at the Buffy statue.

Taking Nina’s hands in his, Angel stared at her with concern. “Of course we are. How could you think otherwise?” He led his fiancée over to Buffy, sitting them both down on the round sofa. “Buffy is my past, but it doesn’t mean I’ll abandon her plight when she’s in trouble. I want to help her if I can. Yes, I still love her. But you? You’re my future. I’m _in_ love with you.”

Nina settled into his arms. Always a strong woman, one who rarely needed someone to coddle her, let him hold her in support. Just be there for her.

“This could be so perfect, my love,” she sighed. “If only…”

This time it was Angel’s turn to silence his future spouse with a kiss. “I know. It’s wrong to keep her inside the hotel.” _For Nina as well as Buffy. To force his wife to live with the other woman in her home – to keep Buffy locked inside, banished from the sunlight as he, himself was._ “We could place her in the garden. That way, she’d be safe, and out in the sun.” _And you would have the sanctitiy of your own home._

Nina touched his cheek with a tentative gesture. “The garden is a nice spot for her,” she agreed. “But I was thinking more along the lines of you and William. I don’t want to be a single mother.”

“You won’t be,” Angel swore. “I’ll do my best. I promise I will.”

“Your best had better be a far cry from what you’ve shown so far,” Nina grumbled.

Angel took a few steps away from her, picking up some of Will’s toys and tossing them back into the playpen. “I know I will.” He swallowed, nervously. “I’ll send a letter to Connor in the morning, telling him about Will. I promise.”

She turned quickly, enfolding him once more within the circle of her arms. “Don’t give me any of your lip, buddy,” Nina whispered, rocking gently against his broad frame. “It’s been easy keeping the information from Connor so far because he’s been out of the country. But he’ll hear about your new son sooner or later, and it had best be from you. It took so long for him to trust you again and you wouldn’t want to lose that now, would you?”

“I guess with him working on that internship at the Council, it’s only a matter of time before someone spills the beans, huh?” Angel looked up, puppydog eyes to the fore. “Maybe he’d take it better if you called him?”

“Oh no you don’t. This is your son. They’re both your sons. Actions speak louder than words, and coming from you would be the best possible course of action. We’ll… well, why don’t we sleep on it and see what tomorrow brings?”

“You mean you’ll stay? Move in with me… us?” Hope leapt into Angel’s heart.

“Was there ever any doubt?” The kiss she bestowed on his lips was certainly a clear enough message. “You wouldn’t by any chance know of a large, soft bed we could rest our weary bones on, would you?” Nina batted her eyelashes like an over-the-top coquette. “We’ve had a long day, and Will is sleeping like a log.”

“There might be a place on my, um – on our bed, upstairs,” Angel corrected himself swiftly, with a certain twinkle in his eye.

Wiggling out of his embrace, Nina pulled the love-struck vampire along behind her, towards the staircase. “Lights out, then,” she whispered, flicking the switch, settling the room into a warm, comforting darkness.

***

They left the little cake behind them in the kitchen, untouched but for the trail left by Nina’s finger.

In the lobby stood the statue; silent. Still. Unmoving. But inside the young woman known as Buffy Summers was crying. It wasn’t the slayer who watched the vampire and his woman leave, it was the girl. And she wished she could just close her eyes and forget what she’d seen.

Such comfort wasn’t granted to her.

She stared straight ahead of her – towards the stairs – where she’d originally been placed, wondering…

_Did he call the baby, Spike? No, he said he was Will. Will… William? Oh my God, could it be…?_

***

**Several Days Later**

Morning found Angel all too soon; trying to write that thrice damned letter to Connor as promised, while trying to keep an eye on William and surreptitiously glancing outside at Buffy in the garden.

Will crawled about on the floor, playing with the various toys strewn about. He tried to capture Angel’s attention and was rebuffed at nearly every turn. Gradually he found his way to the door leading to the outside garden. He pulled himself up, slapped his hands against the glass, shouting: “Da!” As he slapped the door again, his calls increased in volume and intensity. “Da! Dada!”

Angel tried to ignore the ruckus at first, then pulled Will away from the door when he feared the boy might break the glass panes. However, no amount of bribery would keep him still for long. Toys and sweets held no appeal, and Angel wasn’t willing to hold the boy and play with him.

He couldn’t wait for Nina to come home.

The latest missive found it’s way into the garbage and Angel stomped his way into his office to retrieve yet another stack of clean stationary.

“Won’t you lay off that damned racket already?” he yelled as he passed the boy. “You keep hitting that glass and you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Da!” *bang* “Da!” *bang* “Da!” *bang*

_Would that boy never learn to talk? There were other words than ‘Da’ he could use._

Angel tossed the paper onto the desk and grabbed Will around the middle, sweeping him away from the door. “Look, boy. I’m having a hard enough time with this damnable letter – trying to explain all about you to my son. The least you can do for me is be quiet.” He practically threw the child into his playpen, determined to ignore his pitiful sniffles when Angel walked back to his task.

The sounds of the playpen squeaking as Will shook the sides of his prison reminded Angel of the days when the newly fledged vampire had been held in restraints – tied to the bedpost and gagged. Eventually he turned his inner ear away from the noise, confident that the situation was under control.

By the time he’d finally finished the letter, he’d sensed something very wrong about the silence. Turning to check on Will in the playpen, he was met with a shock – the playpen was empty and the boy nowhere to be found.

Angel twisted around in panic. Where the hell had the little hellion gotten himself to? Had some demon slipped in unannounced and kidnapped him? How had he gotten out of the playpen by himself? Nina was going to toast his balls over an open fire if he didn’t find the kid before she came back.

Running around the room like a chicken without its head, Angel looked under the tables and desks. “William! Get over here, boy. Scaring your Da is not a good thing and...” Spotting the open door to the garden stopped him cold. It couldn’t be!

He ran to the door and froze one step away from bright sunshine, and watched as Will clambered over the little fence separating Buffy from the rest of the garden and curled up at her feet, resting his little head against the statue’s base.

“William Pratt!” he yelled, half in relief and half in anger. “Get the hell back in here this instant!”

The child didn’t even raise his head in Angel’s direction. He simply wrapped his arms around Buffy’s feet, closed his eyes, and seemed to drift off to sleep.

There was nothing Angel could do but stare, hoping the boy would remain safe until Nina came home from shopping to pluck him out of the sunlight. Today was one of Gunn’s days at the shelter. There was nobody else to back him up.

_He’d left the week old fledgling manacled to a hook in an isolated closet, ignoring his whimpers as the door slammed shut; five days to reflect on the dangers of walking out into the sunlight no matter how tasty the scullery maid looked as she tried to escape… Angelus furious at the boy’s lack of self-preservation. The childe he’d released was contrite and obedient for weeks as he’d tried to glut on blood from the pantry to make up for being starved in the early days of his bloodlust, lesson at least temporarily learned._

Angel refocused on the playpen, noticing how the mesh bunched where William had obviously made little toe holds when he’d escaped. Really, things were so much easier when manacles were the answer for keeping humans immobile.

He tensed as a sudden sense of danger sent him barreling towards the door.

A loud _caw_ broke the silence as a large black raven swooped over the garden, circling several times before settling on Buffy’s head. It stared at Angel, as if daring him to chase it away, then fluttered down to the ground, walking close to Will.

The child showed no fear whatsoever. In fact, he stood on shaky legs and stutter-stepped his way to the bird, almost as if he’d been enthralled.

 _Thrall!_ The thought snapped Angel out of his lethargy. “Will!” he shouted. “Come here, buddy. Come to Daddy! Stay away from that bird.”

The bird’s head swiveled as it broke it’s gaze from the boy momentarily. _Caw! Caw!_ It seemed to mock Angel’s attempts to call the boy in towards safety.

Will was unresponsive to his father’s entreaties. He held out his little hand to stroke the bird’s feathers.

“Stop, Will! Get in here, now!” Angel knew he was screaming, but it was to no avail. The boy’s hands were holding black feathers as the bird turned its wide open beak towards its target.

Will started to cry, unable to look away from the bird, and Angel lost control. He grabbed the antique handmade quilt Nina’s grandmother had made off of the couch, and tossing it over his head, dashed outside and lunged for the boy, chasing the bird away.

Angel prayed he wouldn’t ignite with the boy in his arms. Holding him closely to his chest, Angel’s head and hands began to smolder with exposure to the sun. They stumbled into the lobby. Angel quickly dropped William to the floor, beating on the comforter and himself to put out the small flames flaring up on the fabric and his hands. It had been a very close call, but they’d made it inside in safely.

Dropping to the floor, Angel broke into tears and sobbed, holding his head with his burnt hands. Will climbed into his lap, hugging his father around the neck.

When Nina returned a half hour later laden with shopping bags, she found her grandmother’s quilt smoldering on the floor, Angel sitting on the floor with both hands bandaged, and Will, wearing a child safety harness tethered to the column in the center of the couch , playing quietly next to Angel.

Discretion being the better part of valor, Nina brought her bags into the kitchen, hung up her sweater, and sat down on a chair opposite Angel and Will before saying a single word. “So, Angel,” she asked as she toed off her shoes. “Did anything interesting happen while I was at the market earlier?”

Angel hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor; head downcast, seemingly unaware of the people around him.

Trying another tack Nina pressed onwards, needing answers. “Would you please explain to me why Will is tied up like a dog? I’ve only been gone for a couple of hours and… what’s that smell?” Scanning the immediate area, she noticed the smoldering quilt several feet away. “And why does my grandmother’s quilt look like you started a barbeque in the middle?”

“Yeah, well… seemed the special of the day was Angelburgers,” he muttered. “Your precious little one over there managed to climb out of his playpen and open the door to the garden.”

Nina didn’t look impressed. “How could he, Angel? He’s just a little boy?”

“Don’t look at me like I’ve got three heads, Nina,” he demanded, huffy at being called a liar. “I’m telling you Will got out and was attacked by a giant bird. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find and brought him back inside, and all I’m getting is grief from you. I suppose you think I should have let the little bastard get pecked to death to protect your damned quilt?”

Nina smiled and picked Will up, releasing the catch on his harness. “You’re a bad boy, William Pratt. Such a bad boy to be playing with a big, bad, bird and getting your Daddy all burned like that.”

Her pretense at castigating the boy was ruined by the giggles she tried to muffle against Will’s neck. 

“Very funny, woman. Ha ha. You go ahead and make fun of the injured vampire who risked unlife and limb for that kid.”

Looking properly contrite, Nina placed a kiss on Angel’s head, wrinkling her nose from the stench of burnt hair. “Sorry, babe,” she soothed. “You were a mighty brave vampire to rush out into the noonday sun. However…” Casting mockery aside, she looked thoughtful, noticing that Will was once again standing by the now latched garden door. “…this does seem to have presented us with a real weak link in childcare.”

Angel hesitated before answering. “I know,” he finally said. “If he’d gone any further. If the threat had been anything worse than a bird, Will would have been helpless out there. And I…”

“You know, it’s nice seeing a little protective streak in you towards your son. Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

“Nina…” Angel was tired of the constant knocks against his not so paternal feelings. It’s not like he wanted the kid to get hurt. Not even like he’d had to take the boy in in the first place. There had been other options. It’s just that he couldn’t leave his own family to someone else. It wasn’t in Angelus, and it wasn’t in Angel to abandon what was his, and Will was that, at least. Family. In some convoluted way or another.

“That’s enough, Nina.” Angel’s words were clipped and harsh. “I know you’re concerned for the kid, but he’s _my_ family. I might not be the perfect father – somehow my only experience in child rearing was cut short, but I wasn’t about to let Will come to harm. Hell, if I managed to restrain myself from killing him as the vampire bane of my existence, do you really think I would…”

Nina was taken aback. Angel had never spoken to her that vehemently before. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have implied that. It’s just, sometimes it feels as if you hate him.”

“I did, mostly.” Angel frowned. “I tried to, anyway. This past year reminds me so much of when Spike was newly turned. He could charm the pants off of anyone he set his sights on, and drove me to distraction whilst doing so. He only wanted to please me, and yet I… Angelus, ended up breaking his heart and spirit. I don’t want to do that to him again.”

She listened as Angel slipped between blaming himself, then his alter-ego, for sins of the past. “Then don’t,” Nina murmured, soft and low. “Don’t think of him as a changed William the Bloody. Think of him as William Matthew Jamison Pratt. Your son. _Our_ son.”

“Our son, huh?” Angel sighed, glancing around at the happy child playing at Nina’s feet. “It’s easier said than done, but I’ll try harder.”

“That still leaves us with the question of what to do with Will during the daytime. Unless we want more fried Angel moments, I think we need to hire someone.”

“I was thinking about hiring a secretary. Think anyone would be interested in a double job? Part office work/part babysitter?”

Nina nibbled at her lower lip, contemplating the situation. “Well, I could always check the boards at the university. There’s always someone looking for work, and we can offer them room and board, too.” She smiled, ruffling Will’s curls. “As you said, he’s a little charmer. And someone could do both jobs with ease. It’s not like we’re inundated with calls.”

Angel grabbed Will as he attempted to crawl by and dropped him into his lap. “Think we’ll find someone who won’t mind working for a vampire and a werewolf, me boyo?” He smiled as Will grabbed for his nose.

“Maybe we won’t put that in the job description just yet, lover,” Nina laughed. “You know, let them acclimate first before we scare them off?”

“You mean get them used to diapers before they find the bloodbags in the fridge?” he grinned.

“Or the cage in the basement,” she fired back, taking his bandaged hand gently in hers.

“Or the hairballs you tend to leave in the shower?”

“Or the sticky red rings you leave at the bottom of your mugs.” Nina giggled as she hit his back with one of the balled up pieces of paper lying about.

“Da!” William squealed with glee, the happiness of his family infectious. “Dada!” he yelled, right before he belted Angel in the nose with his little fist.

Angel groaned, gently grabbing Will’s hands and kissing the boy’s nose. “Ah, boyo. There’s still some of yer old self in there, yeah?”

In response, Will kissed him back, if opening his mouth wide and slobbering all over Angel’s nose constituted kissing.

***

Hugh Chalmers’ once crisp white shirt was soaked with sweat by the time he walked into the Hyperion’s lobby. He’d been sent in unannounced by Rupert Giles, under the guise of being a research assistant.

Angel tagged him as a spy right off, showing his disdain unguardedly. In other words, he totally ignored the Brit. He didn’t offer him tea. Didn’t offer to help him find a place to stay. And he most certainly didn’t bother with any extraneous conversation. He might not be able to put the man back on a plane to England if he didn’t want to lose what little help Giles offered, but there was no way he was going to be nice to the bastard placed in their midst.

By comparison, the arrival of Charlotte Abigail Winterbourne was treated like incoming royalty. The pretty black woman seemed stunned as Angel offered to take her coat and fluffed the pillows on the chair before he offered her the seat.

Hugh sat there, uncomfortable and mute.

“Welcome to Angel Investigations, Ms. Winterbourne. Can you tell me what you know about the job offered before we talk further?”

Charlotte smiled at the man’s easy manner, and wondered why the gentleman sitting in wait looked like he’s been through the Inquisition.

“The notice on the bulletin board said something about a mix of secretarial work and childcare,” she began. “I’ve helped look after my twin sisters, Emily and Anne, so I’m not unfamiliar with little ones.”

“Charlotte, Emily and Jane? Your parents were…”

“Oh yes,” she laughed. “Very into the literary world. We were indeed named after the Brontes.”

“That’s just nifty.” Angel relaxed a bit in her presence. She seemed to be a sweet, old fashioned girl with family values and a background that included more than television. “My son’s just turned one year old, and I need someone in the house during daylight hours when my fiancée isn’t home. I’ve got this… sun allergy, and it’s not fair that William be forced to stay indoors all day long.”

Hands in her lap, Charlotte looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and nerves. “But I’ll still be working as your secretary, right? And perhaps if we can tie it in some way to my major? I’m pre-law, and any experience I can pick up will only help my future.”

“Oh, yeah,” Angel reassured. “Angel Investigations isn’t the busiest firm, but we have a demanding clientele. They tend to have rather eccentric hours, and… well, we tend to give them our undivided attention whatever time they drop in.”

Worried that he might be losing her by her perplexed expression, he rushed on. “It’s all sorts of relaxed here, but there are regular things to be done – paperwork and such… and of course, the phones and reception. It’s all easy stuff, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about working hard, Mr. Angel. It’s just that I’m pre-law, as I mentioned before, and I would love to have a job that I can sort of intern at,” she smiled.

Angel frowned. There really wasn’t much by way of normal legal services offered, unless… “We have an associate who’s a lawyer. He works for the local shelter. I’m sure he’d love to have an assistant with his funding contracts and other things.”

“Really?”

He could clearly see the light shining in her eyes, and it was clear her interest level had more than doubled. It was understandable. Having been the CEO of Wolfram & Hart, he knew how important previous hands-on experience in the law field would look on her resume.

“That’s just wonderful,” Charlotte exclaimed. “You did say room and board were included, right?”

Angel nodded.

“Um, do you think I might actually get to see the little one I’m supposed to be taking care of before we both make a final decision?”

“Of course.” Angel stood, and offered Charlotte his hand. She accepted his help and followed him into the kitchen. Nina was busy feeding Will, and for a change, the boy was on his best behavior. Not a single bit of mashed potatoes had found its way to the floor, table, or Nina’s hair – a minor miracle that Will was allowing himself to be fed.

“Charlotte, this is my fiancée, Nina, and my son, William.” He planted a kiss on Nina’s cheek, and chucked the boy under his chin. “And this is Ms. Charlotte Winterbourne. I’m hoping she’ll agree to take the job.”

“He’s adorable!” she cried, squatting down to make eye contact with the boy. “Hello, Will. My name is Charlotte. Wanna be friends?” she asked, holding out her hand.

Will looked at her for a moment with inquisitive blue eyes and slapped her open palm. “Chir!” he said, before slapping her hand again.

Charlotte seemed like a nice, innocent young woman. Angel hoped that his first impression was right, and they she wouldn’t end up being some shape-shifting demon out to slip in under their guard and kill them while they slept.

He also hoped she wouldn’t turn tail and run when she found out just who she would be working for. With any luck, they’d be able discuss their true natures before it smacked her in the face.

Angel watched Charlotte’s interaction with Nina and Will. She reminded him so much of Fred, in her manner. He liked the way he felt human in her presence. It was so much easier to pretend when there was no option of her considering he might be anything but.

He almost hated to take her innocence in that way, but she would have to be told the facts of life and unlife fairly soon if she accepted the job.

“That’s just so cute! I’d love to take the job, if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, with a nod from Nina – she was hired.

Angel left the women to talk about the care and feeding of Master Pratt and walked back into the lobby; anger slowly building with each step. Unfortunately, the Council’s spy was till here, waiting.

“So, spy-boy. Why are you really here?” No trace of Angel’s previous good humor remained. “Giles convinced himself that I’m doing terrible things to debase his Slayer’s statue?”

Hugh protested. “I’m not a spy, Sir.”

An indelicate snort was Angel’s only reply to what he viewed as an all too obvious lie.

“Mr. Giles just thought I might…”

“What? Keep an eye on me and see what I do with her?” Angel finished for him.

“If you’d only let me finish my own sentences,” the young Watcher sighed. “H-he sent me here strictly to be of assistance to you, Mr. Angel. My forte is research, and my time is yours,” he offered lamely, extending his hand in a peaceful gesture.

 _As if!_ Well, you’re not staying here with me and mine. This place is for family and those people we trust. Until you prove yourself satisfactorily to me, I don’t want to see you except between the hours of nine and five, unless otherwise requested.”

Hugh startled, a deep pink blush colored him from neck to the tips of his ears with his embarrassment. “I would never presume to live in your home, Sir. Especially uninvited. I will find a place and be back here within the next few days to assist you as I can.”

Angel glared, unwilling to soften his stance in the slightest. “If you want to be of help,” he said, grabbing the letter from his desk. “Then post this for me and get out of my sight.” Flashing a bit of fang, Angel turned and stormed out of the room.


	4. Charlotte Abigail Winterbourne's First Day on the Job

**Several Days Later**

Charlotte arranged photos of her family around her desk. Her parents – Laurence and Sarah – to the left of her computer, her elder brothers James and Henry, and the babies – twins Emily and Anne, on the right. She’d just settled in to do some reading for her classes, surrounded by family, when the front door opened to reveal not the first client of the day, but the guy who’d interviewed for something on the same day as she had!

She smiled, happy that he’d been given a chance to prove his worth and glad… well, pleased to have another brand new co-worker to learn the ropes with. He seemed like a nice enough fellow. Poor thing seemed so insecure. Sure he put on a front; all rigid and in total control, but his eyes gave him away. They shifted all around the room as if looking for an exit, just in case he wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Morning, um… what was your name again? Sorry, but I don’t think we were introduced the other day and I’m a teensy bit nervous, myself. This is my first day on the job, too.”

He extended his hand, dropping most of the armful of books he’d brought in as he did so. “Chalmers, Hugh Chalmers.” He’d probably meant that to come out like James Bond, but the effect was startlingly like Peewee Herman, instead.

Charlotte fought back the smile threatening to crease her lips. She’d been raised better than to laugh at another’s misfortune. “Here, Hugh,” she offered, coming out from behind her desk. “Let me give you a hand with those. Nothing like a bunch of slippery old books to make you feel…” She stopped in mid-sentence, noticing the titles of the books in her hands. _The New World Grimoire? Demons, Spells, and Prophesies? What kind of nonsense did this man read?_

Handing the books over, she wondered what kind of guy his age was so involved in Dungeons and Dragons that he’d brought his play books to his first day on a new job.

“Are you meeting your friends after work?” Charlotte’s curiosity got the better of her manners. “You must’ve played online to have a group in the States already.”

“A group?” Hugh looked at her as if she were insane.

“Well, yeah. Why else would you be carrying playbooks about Demons and Spells, seein’ as we don’t live in Medieval times anymore?”

He snorted. The fool actually snorted at her! Dismissing her as if she were a mere child. Fifteen minutes into their association and he was working on her last nerve. She so couldn’t stand game-playing nerds like him – the ones that got so absorbed in their crap that they thought the rest of the world was out of whack. She’d had enough of that with James, thank you very much. It was the last thing Charlotte wanted to deal with while trying to make a good impression with her new bosses.

“Now see here, Miss… Winterbourne, is it? I’m here to work, not play these silly games you’re talking about. Some of us have a firm belief in the work ethic, and…”

“Sure, whatever!” She raised her hand in his face, dismissing him, and went back to her own course books.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Hugh sit at his desk, obviously at a loss for something to do. Mr. Angel probably hoped he wouldn’t show up, if their rather volatile first meeting was anything to go by.

After one of the longest hours in her entire existence, Charlotte excused herself and went into the kitchen to make an espresso, It held the air of the recently modernized, and she could feel Nina’s touch. As she made her way back to her desk, she wondered if Mr. Stuffy-pants wanted anything. Her mother’s words rang in her ear in response. _Be nice, Charlotte. Always be a good, God-loving woman and treat others as you’d have them treat you._

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before, Mr. Chalmers,” Charlotte asked as she approached her co-worker. “Would you care for some coffee? Espresso? It’s all set up in the kitchen if…”

“No, thank you. Some tea, perhaps?”

He looked like a little boy lost at that moment. Adrift. Hopefully the boss would come down soon and cut the poor guy some slack. Waiting around with nothing to do had to be tough on him. Charlotte shook her head. All this jumping around from sympathy to annoyance was giving her a headache.

The phone rang, and she pounced on it. Anything to break up the awkwardness of being alone with Hugh Chalmers.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Angel Investigations. How may we help you?”

_Who the hell are you? Nevermind. Get Angel the fuck over here right now. There’s a bunch of Drathaa’g demons attacking a gym on the West side, and…”_

She stared at the receiver in her hand, stunned speechless at the caller’s yelling, not to mention what he was yelling about. _Demons?_ Then the receiver **clicked** and went dead in her hands.

“Hello? Hello!” she tried to no avail. _Did the stuffy Brit have more of a sense of humor than she’d thought?_

“Was the caller abusive, Miss Winterbourne? Did he offend you?” Hugh’s voice was full of concern; he seemed sincerely worried for her.

“Just a bit of weirdness,” she muttered. “Nothing to be concerned about.” She’d barely turned back to her own books when the phone rang again.

 _Look, I don’t have much time – I need Angel at…_ **click**

Her patience rapidly diminishing, she rounded on the only available target. “Did you tell your pals to call the office today, Hugh?” she demanded, not enjoying being made fun of in the slightest. “Did you tell them that harassing the new secretary would be a cute joke?”

“I have no idea what you mean, young lady,” he huffed, puffing his chest out like a penguin. “I am merely here to…”

She cut him off with a withering glare. “To play your geeky Dungeons and Dragons games, and read your stupid geeky Dungeons and Dragons books on office time?” she finished for him. Turning away from the infuriating man, she rose from her chair to get something to eat from the kitchen, when the phone rang a third time.

 _”God damn it, stay on the phone! The Drathaa’gs are ripping the hell out of…”_ **click**

“Oh, I’ve had it! I’m not picking up the phone again until I speak with Mr. Angel.” Charlotte was furious. “You have phone duty for the rest of the morning, _Mr. Chalmers._ I’m too old to be treated like a sorority pledge.”

Hugh looked at her, mouth wide open in shock. He took a calming breath, closed his mouth, but she paid him no attention.

With her resolve firm to ignore the phone, Charlotte peeked surreptitiously over her law book. She just knew he’d been staring at her. It wasn’t fair. This job was important to her, and she didn’t need to be toyed with by a bunch of over-aged schoolboys.

When the phone rang for the fourth time, Charlotte shoved it away from herself without picking it up. Of course it wasn’t that same guy. _He_ got to deal with a wrong number. Anger churned in her belly and she stomped around the office area, checking the walls for hidden cameras. Maybe this was some kind of joke for them; a joke that had cost her three days where she could have been looking for a real job.

Hugh seemed to have given up the pretense of working. He was not standing at the garden door, looking out at the statue with longing.

Charlotte wished he’d just go out there already, and get out of her sight.

She closed her eyes, resting her head atop her arms on the desk. This wasn’t an auspicious way to begin a new job. A hand on her shoulder startled her out of her reverie moments later.

“Miss Winterbourne…”

“Oh, please! Call me Charlotte, already,” she sighed. “I’ve had a grand old time being the butt of you and your friends’ jokes. Why should things remain so formal between us?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hugh insisted. “I am newly arrived in this country… Charlotte. I don’t know a living soul here. And I most certainly wouldn’t want to cause you this distress.”

“So, maybe they’re playing a joke on both of us?” She lashed out, accidentally knocking her cup off the desk.

Hugh managed to grab the cup before it crashed to the ground, but the coffee was a lost cause. “They? Oh, you mean Mr. Angel and his fiancée?”

She nodded, embarrassed at her clumsiness and the mess it created.

“Well, whoever is toying with us is certainly no Englishman, nor a gentleman,” he assured her, finding a roll of paper toweling to mop up the spilled liquid. “Do you know when Mr. Angel is due to arrive? Perhaps if we were to talk with him, things would be straightened out, forthwith.”

“I hope so,” Charlotte murmured. “I just want to do my job.”

Hugh nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I still have a few books to go through.”

And just like that, her annoyance level jumped up again. Being ignored by a geek for his hobby. Wasn’t that always her luck? Stupid nerd.

“Good morning, everyone!” Nina’s dulcet tones rang from the staircase. She carried a very happy little William in her arms. “How goes your first day on the job?”

It took all of Charlotte’s restraint not to blast her new employer for setting them up with those phony phone calls, but somehow, she managed.

“I’m fine,” she bit out, tersely. “Can I ask you a question? Do you get a large number of prank calls here?”

As soon as Nina reached the desks, Will nearly jumped out of his soon-to-be mother’s arms at the sight of Charlotte, who was more than happy to settle the little boy into her lap. _At least he isn’t responsible for all this nonsense._ “Hey there, Will,” she cooed, tickling his belly. “You’re in a fine mood this morning.”

“We’ve been know to have the odd phone call or two,” Nina said, thoughtfully. “Mostly we just get the people who really need our unique services. Didn’t Angel fill you in on any of this?”

“Not really. He just said to answer the phone, and call either you or him if someone needed him.”

Nina rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy. Looks like a staff meeting is in order as soon as he joins us.” Turning to Hugh she asked: “I gather that there wasn’t anything wrong with your phone calls so far?”

He shook his head. “No, sorry. Other than a wrong number, I haven’t had a thing to do since I’ve arrived. Mr. Angel must have been fairly sure I wouldn’t have bothered to show up after his reception the other day. He’s not happy with me, to be sure.”

“Don’t worry,” Nina soothed. “I’m sure he’ll lighten up. Eventually.”

Charlotte snorted delicately. From the look on Hugh’s face, he agreed with her.

“He’ll get over what, eventually?” called Angel as he walked down the stairs.

_Holy Mama! The guy was half naked. And hot! A definite perk._

Nina laughed. “Morning, hon. Don’t you think you’re a little underdressed for a day at the office?”

He looked down at his bare torso, then hustled back upstairs, obviously embarrassed at his state of undress.

Charlotte suppressed her slight disappointment at the sight of that pretty body heading out of her view with a small sigh.

“Not shabby if I do say so, myself,” Nina chortled, and winked.

“I’m s-sorry,” Charlotte stammered her apology. “I didn’t mean to ogle. Well, I did, but I would never…”

“Don’t worry about it, missy. You’d have to be dead and buried not to notice a body like that when it’s flashed at you.”

 _Whew! Not gonna get busted for drooling after her man,_ was Charlotte’s relieved though.

 

At the sound of the lobby doors banging open, Charlotte couldn’t help but give the baby back to his mother. The sight of the large, enraged black man striding towards her desk, his clothing covered in slime, frightened her. His sweatshirt was torn in several places, and one of his pant legs had been shredded away, leaving the leg covered in blue slime and bloody red scratches.

“What kind of crazy assed place are you guys running this time around?” he bellowed. “A man makes a phone call, askin’ for help, and he gets hung up on. Three times!!” He looked around the room, spotting Charlotte, and seemed to focus his rage on her. “You the little so-and-so who hung up on me?”

She was at a loss for words in the face of his anger, and couldn’t take her eyes off the mess now dripping onto the floor. Not to mention that the whack job screaming at her was highly intimidating.

“When a man asks for your help, don’t you stop and think that his life might depend on it? Are you _that_ stupid?”

“Charles, please…” Nina tried to draw his attention.

It was all too much. Charlotte glanced around the room, needing to get out of there. Will seemed unfussed at the racket going on a few feet away from him, safe in Nina’s arms. Hugh sat in his chair, looking a little too smug, and whoever this guy was? It didn’t look like his rage would be banked any time soon. She couldn’t help herself as she burst into tears and ran out of the building.

She didn’t get far. Where would she have gone? Not only was the neighborhood unfamiliar, but all of her stuff was back at the hotel, and she hadn’t even taken her purse with her. God, she felt as dumb as she’d been accused of being.

“Look, kid…”

For the second time that morning, Charlotte had been caught unawares. Apparently, the man who’d been yelling at her had followed her outside. His whole attitude had changed since she’d left the Hyperion. In fact, he now seemed downright solicitous.

“We got off on the wrong foot, it seems. Your boss was a bit close-mouthed on the job details, I take it?”

The young woman could only shake her head in agreement, a bit too upset for words.

“My name’s Gunn, Charles Gunn. I didn’t mean to freak you out or nothin’, but when you’re being chased by Drathaa’gs, backup is more than just helpful.”

 _There he goes again! What is it with this man and demons?_ Her composure returning, Charlotte looked straight into Gunn’s brown eyes. “Again with the demons! Are you and Hugh part of the same group of Dungeons and Dragons geeks? Has this been a lot of fun for the both of you?”

“You really don’t know who you’re working for, do you, kid?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, throwing off the ‘kid’ crack. “Mr. Angel, of Angel Investigations, and his fiancée, Nina. They run a small, private investigations office. And I get to watch after little William for several hours a day.”

“Angel Investigations… you ever hear of them before?” he asked her. “Of course not. Why would you have?” He answered his own questions, shaking his bald head. “I’m gonna kill Angel for this.”

Charlotte shivered at the man’s words, unsure of his intentions.   
Wait a minute…” A light clicked on in her mind. “Did you say your name was Charles Gunn? Aren’t you… nah, you couldn’t be!”

He stood tall, offering her a mock salute. “Charles Gunn, Attorney at law. At your service, ma’am.”

She gawped at him, unable to reconcile the polished image of the man in her head with the grungy person standing before her. “But… but… you were 2004’s Lawyer of the Year! The most successful ration of cases taken on and cases won that year.”

“Something like that,” he murmured, shyly. They’d walked back to the Hyperion steps by then, and he sat down next to her. This time she didn’t flinch away.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Gunn,” she gushed. “A lot of my coursework is based on your cases from a couple of years ago.” _Argh! She sounded like a star-struck fool._ “I don’t understand what you’re doing connected to a small place like this… much less covered in all that smelly goop.”

“It’s all part of what Angel oh so conveniently forgot to mention when he hired you,” Gunn snickered. “Why don’t we go inside and see if Mr. Short on Words can fill in some blanks for you.” He offered his elbow, one of the few clean spots on his person, which she gingerly accepted, and allowed him to lead her back inside.

And stopped short.

Inside where a – a monster in Angel’s clothing was sipping something deep and red from a mug, staining his lips. Nina was polishing an axe, while Hugh was holding onto a squirming William, trying to keep him away from the sharp weapon and from slobbering all over his nice suit.

She sat down hard on the floor, hoping there was some reasonable explanation for all of this.

“It’ll be all right, Charlie,” Gunn soothed, wary of upsetting her. :Let me pour you a stiff one, and get this party started.”

“Charlotte,” she murmured. “My name is Charlotte.”

***

She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, idly twirling a black feather in her fingers. Today had been rougher than anything she’d expected. Prank phone calls were one thing. To find out there were monsters in the world? Totally something else.

Her mind reeled with it all. Mr. Angel was a-a vampire, of all things. A vampire with a soul – unique amongst such creatures. And Nina was a werewolf! Imagine trying to shave four very hairy legs at that time of the month, she giggled softly.

Demons were real. As real as demon hunters. And there were peaceable demons, too. Just the majority were evil and out to destroy humans.

But little William was a perfectly normal human child, or so she was told. She looked at the feather and placed it on her night table. This was going to take awhile to all settle in, so she would be comfortable with all the facts.

And let’s not forget to mention meeting her legal idol! Imagine that, Charles Gunn. And he knew about demons, too. Would she ever stop being tickled by that?

 _Well, time will tell, Charlotte old girl._ Tomorrow is another day and all that rot. Her eyes drifted shut, and she fell into a sound sleep.


	5. Buffy's View from the Garden

Like Alice popping through the looking-glass, Buffy found herself in a whole new world. One moment she was indoors, listening to Giles, Willow, Angel and some other people she couldn’t name. Unable to speak or move. In the blink of an eye, she stood in what appeared to be an outside garden, nothing more than rest-age for the birds. The thought of being pooped on by pigeons humiliated her beyond belief.

Behind the marble surface of her eyes, Buffy found she could see a bit more than what lay right in front of her if she concentrated. It tended to give her a headache and was more trouble than it was worth

Mystical vision sucked as a superpower.

She heard him before she saw him. The little boy… Will? Hard to remember everything when she couldn’t remember what day or year it was.

The boy stumbled about, shrieking with glee as he circled around her, the sound of his voice fading in and out. Why didn’t he come closer? Had he ever been closer? Buffy wished she could get things straight in her mind.

Was Spike… no, Will… no, Spike, damn it. Was Spike out here alone? Too little to be left alone. He should have someone to hug and kiss; keep him safe. You kept little ones safe, right? Like Dawn. Only not so little anymore Dawn. But still, she should be loved. Did she even know her sister was missing? Did she care?

Buffy’s lip _ached_ with the need to wibble. The questions swirled around and around in her head. Why was she still a statue? How long had she been missing? Was anyone trying to help free her? Wait… Giles and Willow were there, but how long ago was that? Yesterday? Three months ago?

“William! No, baby. Don’t climb over that fence. You’ll hurt yourself!”

 _Who the hell was that?_ Okay, so the little boy wasn’t alone. His mother was just out of her line of sight. As was most everything. She missed _her_ mother. Mom? Mommy?

She heard the boy grunt in frustration as he obviously tried to get past whatever fence his mother had mentioned. She swung into view as she scooped the boy into her arms. His mother looked familiar… oh! Angel’s… Angel’s new girl? Wife? _Aargh!_ If Buffy could tear at her own hair, she would. _Work, brain! Work!_

“Down, mama! Go down.” Will/Spike struggled in his mother’s arms and cried: “Down, down, down,” until the woman obviously gave in. This time he must have managed to climb over the fence, or pull it out of the ground because Buffy actually felt a warm, tingly sensation on her legs. He must be hugging her again.

_Figures, Spike. You never could keep your grubby paws off of me._

The longer Will held onto her legs, the more they tingled. It felt like hot little ants crawling up and down her skin. Almost… just like holding Spike’s hand in the Hellmouth. Just before they burst into flame. Would her legs catch fire? And the baby… would he be safe?

_Was this what Spike used to feel when he touched her? The difference in temperature between them? Skin texture so unlike the other? The pleasure of warmth leeching into his skin from hers?_

Buffy almost cried when she felt Will back off. God, how she missed the contact. Feeling his warm, little hands. Feeling anything. At this point, she’d sell her soul to be able to dance, or chow down on something chocolatey. To kiss. Oh, please… to be kissed and loved. It’d been so long.

She spotted Will playing in the grass not too far away. _Come back, little guy. Come sit by my feet and hold me. Make me feel something!_. Buffy would have jumped for joy if she could, as he got up, toddled over and hugged her again. “Tiss ou,” he said, before something wet and warm covered her big toe. “More tiss!” as he did it again.

“Yucky, Will! Dirty! No kissing the statue.”

As the woman dragged William away, Buffy had a vision flash of black leather. She could see Spike in front of her, as clear as if she’d gone back in time; could hear him as he told her to leave – refuting her last moment declaration of love. After so much lapsed time, she could feel his true meaning behind his words. _Get out, love. Be safe. I love you, too._

Buffy could feel his fear for her as the walls crumbled around them. Most of all, she could feel the warmth of his love wrap around her to keep her safe as she made her escape, leaving him behind to dust.

So much feeling behind his final words. Oh, if only he could have left with her. If they’d have had the time post-apocalypse that she was sure they’d have. After all, Spike never left her. Not for long. She’d never been able to ditch him even when she wanted him to leave. And she knew she’d never really wanted him to. Not after those first few “I’m gonna bleed you dry and dance on your drained corpse” moments.

No matter how you looked at it, her life was complicated. Nobody alive would classify her love-life as simple or sane. Her ex-first love was a vampire with an occasionally detachable soul. Seemed he’d finally managed to move on enough to propose to another woman – who wasn’t her. Not that Buffy still wanted him, but it wasn’t fair. She couldn’t move on. She couldn’t even freaking move. Couldn’t blink her eyes, couldn’t move her pinky finger… and for as long as she could remember, her nose itched.

 _Damn that Immortal! He really should have just killed her outright. This kind of prolonged torture was Angelus’ style – remember what he did to Drusilla the Wacky before he turned her – unless he learned it from the Immortal? Maybe he was an Immortal groupie and picked the wrong woman to eat. Pissed the guy off enough to hold an eons long grudge. Not like he hadn’t done it before with the Gypsies, and look at how well that worked for him._

Huh! Who knew it would hurt to try and roll your eyes when you’re statufied?

To make matters worse, her last lover was a vampire who’d gained his soul for her, died for her, came back and fried for his grandsire, who he’d taken great pains to tell everyone who’d listen that he’d hated. And what did the cosmos do? Did they let the poor guy rest? No, of course not. They brought him back as a human baby to be raised by the same hated grandsire turned father. If there was anyone the powers seemed to pick on more than her, it was Spike.

Maybe she’d just gone mad. It would probably be a blessing if she had. And what would have happened if Xander had never resuscitated her when she’d drowned at the Master’s hands? Someone else would have saved the day, and Willow wouldn’t have been strong or stupid enough to bring her back yet. Did statues die? Would she ever die again? Maybe someone needed to drop a house on her, like in the Wizard of Oz. Would she shatter and croak? Or would all of her little pieces have a life of their own? Gah! Too scary to even think about. Live Buffy pebbles spread out in this very same garden.

It was quiet in the garden, now. The sun’d gone down, and the door must’ve been closed, and yet she still heard babybabble in her head. It warmed her heart, not being totally alone inside her marble shell for the first time in forever.

_Night, Spike. Or William. Better make that both of you to be safe and cover all my bases._

The peace and warmth of a well cared for baby settling down to sleep soothed Buffy’s spirit, making her rethink her previously fatalistic outlook. She wasn’t alone anymore. That was something new. And Spike or William being the vampire she’d known was a puzzle to figure out.

Who knows, maybe tomorrow she’d get lucky and Angel or Giles… or someone else entirely would find a way to get her out of this stone prison.

Make her a free Buffy again.

Free to walk, talk shop for shoes… and most importantly, go after the Immortal like a bat out of hell. She’d rip the bastard apart, one perfect digit at a time.

Even if it took her forever, the bastard was going down, and she was just the Slayer to do it.


	6. Breathing Space

**Two Weeks Later – End of June**

Computer on?

Check.

Tutorial books?

Check.

Client files piled nearby?

Check.

One flustered 250 year old vampire?

You betcha - check.

Why had he opened his big mouth in the first place? “I can do this, ladies,” he’d said. “I can follow simple directions. You go off and do your thing, and it’ll all be done when you come home,” he’d promised. “Will won’t be any trouble. I’ll work on this while he’s napping.”

Charlotte left for school with a smile on her face. Nina packed a small bag for a few days with her sister, Jill. “Amanda missed her,” she’d said, even though she’d only just moved in with Angel. “A couple of days of strictly girl time were just what the three of them needed to ‘reconnect’.”

 _Yeah, right._ Angel was sure that the main reason Nina’d left was to get away from the ice cold glares and hostility between him and Hugh. Okay, to be fair, the anger and hostility all stemmed from himself, not the prissy Watcher, but it wasn’t _his_ fault. That moron was always underfoot or in the way. It wasn’t like he’d been the one to hire him. Too bad he just wouldn’t take the hints and get lost.

_Whatever._

He had bigger concerns just then.

Like his damn computer!

Angel had come this close to tearing his hair out. He’d read everything… twice. _Databases for Dummies_ had been as incomprehensible as _Let Your Databases Multi-Task for Efficiency’s Sake_ , until he’d managed to grasp enough of the particulars to settle down and cobble something together his way. After more than two hours of finger numbing typing, he’d finally finished his task. And bonus points for Will playing happily on the floor between the desks.

There, on the screen, was a lovely table that cross-linked all the demons the agency had come across with the cases they were involved with. A quick glance at the clock showed it had been closer to three hours since he’d figured out how to begin. The end of this torture hadn’t come nearly soon enough.

“I could have helped, you know.”

Angel’s attention turned towards the Watcher, still at his desk. Chalmers sat; not a hair out of place. His tweed suit perfectly tailored; looking like a prissy altar boy. A pair of wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose completed the look, incontrovertibly linking him to… someone he still couldn’t think of without wincing.

Will had chosen that particular moment to head over towards Chalmers’ desk, and Angel snatched him off the ground mid-stride, in panic.

“I was top of my class in building databases, I can assure you I would do a good job of it,” he continued, unaware of the ratcheting tension in the room. “There’s no need for you to continue to struggle that way.”

 _Shows him what he knows,_ Angel snorted, glancing happily at the completed table on his monitor. He’d settled Will closer onto his lap, holding him tightly, almost flinching as the Watcher came closer. Just the idea that the Council was anywhere near his son, the infamous ex-vampire William the Bloody, choked him. Ignoring him as best he could, Angel turned towards his son.

“See, kid? Your old man made that. All by myself, no matter what your mama tells you about old dogs and new tricks.” He’d almost said something about Spike’s constant harping about how he was stuck in a technologically deprived era, but the fear of Chalmers even sensing that Will was Spike was enough to tie his tongue.

Angel shuddered. A still wet behind the ears Watcher, probably cringing at having to work with a vampire. He probably wouldn’t hesitate to turn in the helpless child if he’d found out just whom he’d been just last year. Who knows what the Council would do to the boy if they had him in their clutches. No way would Angel let Chalmers near Will. He’d already lost Connor to a Watcher, albeit a well meaning one, but he wasn’t going to risk the same thing happening to his boy, now.

The thought of Wesley made him close his eyes, trying to think of better times; when Wes had been his best friend – before Connor. Before Wolfram & Hart, and before Wes had died for his cause. He wasn’t sure which of those facts hurt him the most.

He stood suddenly, leaving Will on the chair. He should be safe enough for a few moments while Angel got a well deserved cup of coffee.

“You did remember to save your work, yes?” Hugh called out as Angel headed towards the kitchen.

Angel rounded on him with disdain dripping from his voice. “I don’t need you to tell me how to run my business, Watcher-boy. Just remember, you’re only here because I was backed into a corner by Giles. I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here. It’s just that I have no choice. It doesn’t mean that I have to listen to your prattle.

A distinctive _*ping*_ stopped the two men’s repartee. The sight of Will clapping his hands as he pushed button after button on the keyboard; haphazardly moving the mouse around the desk, put fear into both their hearts. Apparently, Will had found the right combination of moves to make the wastebasket gobble up files.

Moving with full vampiric speed, Angel still wasn’t fast enough. He pushed the chair away from the desk, sending Will spinning and laughing across the room. Panic set in as he searched the computer for his database that was no longer showing on the monitor. In fact, nothing was showing on the monitor. The files were gone, the program was closed – all those hours of work simply… gone!

He stood there for a moment, head down, eyes closed – stiff as the proverbial corpse he was, as if he couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. The fact that it was his poor judgment to leave the computer in Will’s inquisitive grasp, Angel couldn’t even begin to justify his lack of saving the files, which would put a smirk on that horrid man’s face.

“What did you do, Will?” he whispered. “Bad boy. That was a bad thing you did, messing around with your Da’s hard work.” His voice raised, even knowing it wasn’t the boy’s fault, but unable to take it onto himself. “Oh, god. Where is that file? Where the hell is that god damned file?”

He knew he was yelling, hitting the keys harder and harder. Open file just made the computer _beep_ again and again, to no avail. _File Deleted_ flashed across the screen, blinking and taunting.

Will started to cry, wriggling down from the chair as his father got angrier. Hugh caught the boy before he could leave the room, well aware versed about his propensity to vanish. Not happy at being held by Hugh, the boy proceeded to pitch a full-fledged tantrum. “Down! Down! Me down!” he screamed, pitching himself backwards, trying to loosen Hugh’s hold.

In the meantime, Angel yelled louder and pounded harder and harder on the keyboard, having his own temper tantrum. “Two hours!” he screamed. “T’is the devil’s own machine; computers. More’n two feckin’ hours of peckin’ m’fingers to the bloody bone to put all this crap into it, and it’s all gone in one second, thanks to…”

Whatever he was about to say was swallowed in the noise of the front doors bursting open.

“Hey, Dad. I’m hoo-oome!” Connor’s happy voice boomed throughout the lobby, barely heard thanks to Will’s screaming which continued, unabated.

Angel froze between attacking his computer and the sight of his elder son. He’d not expected to see the young man.

Connor walked over to his father, pushing his luggage into his hands. Angel took them, still too stunned to figure out what was happening.

“But… but… aren’t you in England? You’re in the middle of your summer classes,” he insisted, putting the bags down on the floor.

Connor flopped inelegantly on the couch, his arms outstretched. “I think that letter you sent telling me I had a new baby brother had something to do with it, don’t you think?”

“You got the letter, already?” Angel still forgot from time to time that it no longer took months for a letter to make it’s way across the ocean.

“Yeah, I would have been here sooner, but you know… school. Finished my exams before I lit out. Besides,” he said, looking over at the squalling boy still struggling the other man’s arms. “A new addition to the family is big news. Especially to _our_ family. Not like that happens every day,” he chortled.

Angel enjoyed the sight of Hugh, still having the devil’s own time of it trying to hold onto the snot-nosed, crying, flailing terror in his arms. As for Connor, the boy (Angel still had a hard time seeing him as a man, no matter how tall he’d grown) stood and strode over to the unhappy duo. Chalmers look ready to cry, himself.

“I guess this is him?” Connor asked as he took the little dervish from a very grateful Hugh’s arms.

“Yeah, that’s our William.”

“Not exactly the most Irish of names.”

“Well, he isn’t exactly Irish now, is he?”

Connor laughed, turning his attention back to the baby. “Hey there, little William. I’m your big brother, Connor. Nice to finally meet you.”

The boy calmed almost instantly in Connor’s arms; sniffling as he nestled into his chest, wiping his dripping nose into Connor’s shirt, which galvanized Angel, ever the clothes horse, into action.

“Knock off the waterworks, William. You’re making a mess, here!” he admonished, pulling out a wad of tissues to try and clean the child’s crusty nose. “What’s he gonna think of you?” Not being cooperative in the least, Will turned his head from side to side, resulting in the mucous now being spread over both his cheeks instead of being wiped off.

“Dad! _Dad!_ Stop it.” Connor laughed, pushing Angel’s hand away from his squirming brother. “I can always throw the shirt into the wash. Besides, this little one’s not gonna give up the ghost and calm down if you keep chasing after him with that thing. When he’s ready, just get a warm washcloth and problem solved.”

Angel couldn’t believe the difference in his youngest’s behavior from Hugh’s arms to Connor’s, who was a virtual stranger not five minutes ago. “How do you know so much about babies?” he asked Connor, very impressed with his take charge attitude.

“Apparently, false memories of taking care of younger siblings are good for something,” he said, gently.

Angel barely registered the movement as Hugh walked over to his computer, set up a new database the correct way, and was well on his way to completing the task in record time.

With a light tap on his shoulder, Angel allowed Connor to guide him into the kitchen, as he tried somewhat unsuccessfully to remove his brother’s hands that were fisted in his hair.

“William Pratt! You stop hurting your brother, this instant!” Angel tried to capture the little hellion’s hands, but his surprisingly strong grip made it impossible, without pulling out Connor’s hair at the same time. “Isn’t he hurting you?”

“Yeah, right,” Connor snorted. “You’re forgetting where I grew up. I wrestled with things stronger than you when I wasn’t much bigger than baby bro, here.” Connor tugged on Will’s hair in retaliation, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to grab his attention. “’Sides, at least he’s not crying anymore.”

“There is that,” Angel agreed, smiling. Charlotte would be home in a few hours, and they could pass the boy over to her. He knew he had a lot to say to Connor, yet, and it would be easier without the little one in tow.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He had both his boys within his grasp, something very important where Spike was concerned, and a pleasure where Connor was. The fridge had a full supply of pig and otter blood awaiting him. Nina would be home in a few days. How could anything go wrong?

***

The two women giggled like a couple of naughty teenagers sneaking out for a weekend bender.

“I can’t believe I fibbed to Angel about where I’d be for the next few days,” Nina whined, shame coloring her cheeks a deep pink. “We promised not to lie to each other about anything.” 

“Don’t you dare go feeling guilty, Nina,” Anne chuckled, her baby belly gently jiggling as the two women embraced. “Your wedding is one of the most important events in your life, and it deserves proper planning. Added bonus of a no-stress, girl-talk, mini-vacation”

“I agree. And it’ll be good for Angel. He so needs some real bonding time with Will. He promised me he’d try to ditch the hostility and see him as just the innocent child he is.”

“Yeah, and he’s not really alone, what with Charlotte and Hugh there all the time. Um, even if it’s not all wine and roses between the two guys.” Anne twiddled with the bottom of her blouse, suddenly unsure. “Did you remind Angel to call our number if anything came up? I mean, not to let his pride get in the way?”

Nina laughed out loud, thinking about how truly headstrong and stubborn her fiancé could be. “Don’t worry, hon. I’ve got your number on the fridge in Will’s magnetic neon numbers. He can’t miss it.”

“Good, then. Let’s go get some coffee and Danish. I’m starved, and junior here agrees with me. I wouldn’t miss my one coffee every other day for anything.”


	7. Death Comes A'Calling

Drusilla stared intently into the dull gray bowl, studying the placid surface of the liquid it held. “What do I spy with my little eye?” she intoned in a sing-song manner. Glancing up at the large black raven walking back and forth on its perch, she sighed. “Nothing shines for me, my pet. Perhaps I should send you out to search amongst the pixies?”

It flapped its wings twice, showing off its full wingspan. _Caw! Caw caw!_ it seemed to answer her, cocking its head to one side.

“Perhaps not, then,” she murmured, staring once more into the murky surface. “One of our chicks has left the nest with a lie on her lips.” Drusilla clapped her hands with delight. “I think it’s time for an outing, Mr. Peepers. You be a good birdy whilst Mummy is doing her chores and maybe I’ll bring you back a tasty treat.”

***

The Los Angeles sewer system made daylight jaunts almost as easy for Drusilla as Sunnydale’s network had. Not to mention the convenience of snagging a bite to eat in one of the overcrowded indoor malls. Thousands of men, women and children all shoved together like little appetizers just waiting for her to take her pick. Only, she wasn’t out to hunt today… not for food, at least. She was going to be a mummy. Today her prey were pretty outfits and white shoes, diapers and talcum and lots of those itty bitty pins with which to stick the baby with. Sailor suits and hats with pretty feathers in them. A child of hers would be dressed decently; the prettiest boy of the lot.

She’d spoil her baby, and they’d dance once again as they used to in the old days. Just ‘cause Daddy had him now didn’t mean he’d stay there forever. Her sweet William was coming back home, and they’d have the best of times.

 _Oh, yes!_ Drusilla clapped her hands in anticipation. _It will be so much fun taking the boy right out from under Daddy’s nose._ She knew just how to do it. The little puppy with the crooked tongue would provide her way into the fortress. After that, her fair knight was home free.

_Bad Daddy. Always ruining things. Trying to keep what’s hers by blood for himself. Little Willy was hers. She’d chosen him, herself – to be her brave knight; her effulgent pet. Nobody had written of Princess’ beauty or charms since he’d been gone._

***

The display at The Children’s Place was awash with summer colors. Just perfect for what she had in mind. No more dark, dark, dark for her boy, although the bloody reds were all right. Greens, and blues and lots of white. And no annoying sunshine to mess everything up.

No, her darling David had taken care of that. More exquisite than Michelangelo’s greatest work of art, for he had managed to entrap the sun.

_See how she likes having her dolly taken from her._

Drusilla wove through the store’s displays, picking out shirts and pants the little glass lights didn’t shine upon. She made sure not to step into the shadows, for they didn’t appreciate that kind of disrespect.

She came across a little girl, waltzing around a column like a giant Maypole. Dru’s eyes lit up, entranced by the child. “Mmmm, like cherry syrup you are, my sweet. Come with me and we will make such delightful messes.”

The little girl refused to play, saying all kinds of mean things. “My mommy told me not to go with strangers,” she insisted, making enough of a racket to bring her mother around.

There were other children around, but Dru wanted her sweet cherry. She pulled the mother around, pointing her fingers at the woman’s angry eyes. “Be… in my eyes. Be… in me.” Immediately the woman calmed, and handed the little treat over, as nice as you please.

Gathering all her pretty prezzies, Drusilla merrily twirled her way out of the store, un-accosted, leaving behind a disoriented staff in her wake, and a young mother looking for her child.

The little dolly cried when Dru took a taste. Just a small one – nothing more. She knew now wasn’t the proper time to fill her belly. Instead, she caressed the sweetling’s face, took her hand and led her to the next store. Her boy would need lots of toys for when he was good, and canes for when he was bad. A good mummy was always prepared.

“Messy girl,” Dru pouted, pulling on the child’s dress, pointing out splotches of blood around the collar. “You’ve gone and soiled your frock! Shouldn’t get you a sweet, but Mummy’s feeling kindly.” She carried the girl into an old-fashioned candystore, packed wall-to-wall with an amazing variety of goodies. It reminded her of a Parisienne sweet shop she’d once been to, and she chose two large lollies from a display case. A pink one to keep her little cherry girl full to the top, and a blue one for her little sailor boy. A quick wriggle of her fingers, and the salesmen waved them out.

“What’s your name, dumpling?” Dru asked, raising the little girl’s face to meet her own.

With great effort, she managed to squeak out: “Sherice.”

“Just what I thought, my little cherry. Now, now, dolly, it isn’t time for your nap quite yet,” she admonished when Sherice began to sway on her feet. “Soon you can sleep as much as you want, but not quite yet.” She tapped the youngster on her nose. “Got you, poppet. All your little pieces, mine for the taking.”

Sherice stood shakily, unable to move, unable to scream out for rescue.

“You’re such a cute little girl. Maybe my sweet Willy would like to have a sister. How would you like Princess to be your mummy, too?”

Spying a queue of shopping carts, Drusilla snagged one. She dumped the clothing in the back portion, using them as a cushion for Sherice. “Now, isn’t that better? Today beggars shall ride, poppet, and I’ll push you in your pram like a good mum.”

Dru sang quietly as she pushed the shopping cart from store to store. To the average mallrat, she was just one more mother, albeit in a fairly old-fashioned outfit, pushing her child along on a sunny afternoon. One of the shopkeepers threw a sour glance her way when Dru dared to touch the pretty necklaces on display without permission. Her expression puckered even further when Drusilla’s nails slashed through the woman’s throat, spraying blood all over the floor, as she collapsed to the ground; blood too filthy to drink.

“Oooh, look at all the pretty frillies!” The Bridal Shoppe was the next stop on their mall crawl. “And look at the wonderful surprise inside! Hush, little cherry… our lying wolfy is inside, and our party begins.”

She so loved the pretty dresses with all their frippery; delicate laces that spoke of pixies and secret messages in-between the designs. What they signified. To be a bride to a beloved master… but her Daddy was long gone, and all her dreams of frills and lace were dust.

Dru’s eyes widened as they came to rest on an additional treat. Her wolf was accompanied by flower girl; the one her Spike had partaken of back on the mouth of Hell. Nestled inside was her own little treasure – a black jewel swimming and growing ripe. She waited for the blooming flower to take her leave before she approached her original goal, glancing first at her pram to ensure the security of _her_ little girl, groggily nodding off.

Hiding the cart in-between rows of billowy silks and taffetas, Dru crept up behind Nina and tapped her on the shoulder – vanishing when she turned around – only to do it again and again, watching the woman grow frustrated and dizzy. She finally showed herself, swaying back and forth in front of the harried woman.

“Hello, my little wolf. Want to play run and catch? See who can protect the little lambs from the real Big Bad?”

Nina stood, seemingly weighing what to say or do.

“Be… in me,” Dru murmured, and the little wolfling was all hers; would let her in whenever Drusilla asked her to. She patted her pet’s head and turned around, taking her pram with her. It was time to go home. Her tummy was growling, and she remembered she’d promised her black feathered friend a treat since he’d been such a good fellow.

“Nina, are you okay? You look greener about the gills than I do most mornings.”

Flower girl’s voice was easily heard above the throng outside the store, and Dru waited… perhaps she’d need to partake of dinner a might early after all.

“Did you see her? Some fruitcake in a long dress played a demented game of peek-a-boo with me, and then vanished.”

“No, I just…”

Flower girl looked towards the door, seemingly straight at Dru. She could feel it as contact was made, the naughty blossom; little present her Spike had begun to open in that tin box all those years ago.

“Look, why don’t we just go back to my place? We’ve still got a lot to do if we want to prepare for the wedding.”

Dru had heard enough, and turned from the store in disgust. _The wolf would marry the hunter? Never!_ Poor daddy, to have fallen so.

***

Night had fallen, and Angel was chomping at the bit to get out of the Hyperion. Best of all, he had his son at his side – the perfect stress reliever – a patrol with Connor. “Time to go kill something, son,” he said, unable to contain his patented brooding façade. “You ready?”

Connor gave his little brother a last hug for the night. “Here ya go, Charlotte. You take good care of this little guy. He and I have lots of years ahead of us for making old Dad’s life a living hell. Will needs his sleep.” With a grin, he turned and strode out the door with Angel.

 

Charlotte turned to Hugh once they were alone. “Heard you had rather an interesting time of things with the Boss this morning.” She smiled, feeling rather sorry for the poor shlub at the moment. “Something about Will and his daddy’s database?”

“Oh, you should have seem the man, Miss Wint…”

“Hugh, we’ve been working together for the past two weeks. Don’t you think you can drop the formality, please? Call me Charlotte.” With Will in her arms, she walked over to the garden door. “I think I’m gonna catch a bit of fresh air before putting this little sweetie to bed. You wanna go see your statue friend, hon?” she cooed.

Will clapped his hands excitedly. “Out! Go out, Lotte.”

“Hey,” Hugh exclaimed. “How come he’s allowed to call you that?”

She laughed. It was nice to see the more human side of the man. “If you were this cute, I’d let you call me anything you’d like, too.” She opened the door to let William play in the garden, watching him promptly sit in front of the well-lit statue.

“Are you sure the boy will be alright? Out in the garden by himself?” The Watcher’s brows knit in concern. “After all, that’s where he was attacked by that…”

Charlotte turned around at the sudden silence, concerned at the cause. “Hugh?”

“Oh dear Lord,” he whispered. “Drusilla!” The name held such fear tinged with not a little awe, that Charlotte spun around to check on the boy.

Time stopped as a vampiress appeared framed at the garden door in full gameface, holding William in her arms, her painted nails trailing along his delicate neck. She watched the panicked expressions on the hotel’s occupants with delight.

“No need to fear, poppets. William is safe now. Mummy is here.”


	8. When Darkness Falls

Buffy’s entire world had narrowed over the span of her incarceration to one little boy – William. He who used to be Spike; once known as William the Bloody. She heard him in her head all the time now. His incessant babbling until someone paid attention to him upon awakening; his discomfort when he needed his diaper changed. On occasion, she could even hear faint snatches of speech from whomever William was interacting with.

 _William!_ Buffy thought his name as loudly as she could, and was rewarded with a delighted whoop. She could feel his proximity, and sure enough… he came toddling through the garden door and made a beeline straight for her feet. A hug was his standard greeting. Buffy looked forward to them with relish. Nobody else entered the garden, but she could sense what’s her name? Something that started with a C… Charlotte, that’s right, nearby.

She wanted to push the mental connection a bit further. _Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posies…”_ she sang, thrilled when Will responded by bopping up and down in place, bending his knees as he clapped his hands in time to her tune.

“Asses, asses, down!” he trilled, falling onto his bottom, then scrambling up to do it all over again.

Their fun came to a halt the moment Buffy felt a familiar tingle down the center of her spine.

 _Vampire! And it’s not Angel._

_Will!_ she cried, desperately hoping he’d listen. _Run to Charlotte. Run home._. 

The little boy looked up at her, confused. He offered up a small blue flower clutched in his chubby fist.

 _No, baby, it’s not a game,_ Buffy insisted, trying to change tactics. _Let’s play something new. I close my eyes, and you run home._.

Nada. Will stubbornly sat down.

Buffy was totally helpless when Drusilla glided into the garden enclosure sporting her gameface, unnoticed by Charlotte, squatting down directly in front of William.

She had to try once more. _Please, Will. Get up._ Still no response from the boy.

“Hello, my William,” Drusilla cooed, lifting the boy’s face to meet his eyes. “Princess has missed you.”

“Pwetty,” he said, bopping the vampiress on the nose before returning his attention to a patch of wildflowers. He ripped a pink one from the ground and offered it to Drusilla, giggling as the dirt dropped onto her shoulder.

“Not now, little one,” Drusilla admonished. “We will have time to play our games later. It’s more important to leave the naughty children before Daddy gets home. Do you want to say goodbye?”

Will turned to Buffy and waved. “Buh bye.”

The vampiress grew agitated. “No, no, my sweet Willy. No words for mean old sunshine. She’s not deserving of your gifts. She never was.” She scooped the boy into her arms and turned to walk away.

 _It’s a trick, Spike! Don’t go with the bad lady. She’ll hurt you all over again!_ Buffy screamed so loud in her head she could feel the shrieks reverberating inside her marble prison.

William held his hands to his ears. “Boo boo!” he cried, shaking his head back and forth.

“Naughty sunshine; hurting the poppet.” Drusilla stuck her tongue out as she waltzed the boy around the statue. “Ring around the rosy, Sunshine’s being nosy.” She stopped in front of Buffy and tapped her on the nose. “Mummy will take her dark knight somewhere safe.”

“Go Dada?” Will pulled Drusilla’s long curly hair, pointing in the direction of the hotel.

Buffy heard a commotion from the inside of the building. As if seeing through Will’s eyes, she could make out a panicked Charlotte running into the garden, dragging an extremely reluctant Hugh after her.

_About damned time someone noticed the kid was in trouble. Wouldn’t she love to give Angel an earful!_

“No need for Daddy, little one,” Drusilla cooed, dragging her nails along his delicate neck. “Don’t be afraid, poppets,” she said, holding her free hand up to stop Charlotte in her tracks. “William is perfectly safe now that Mummy is here.”

She turned her head on Buffy for the last time. “Say bye-bye, sweet Willy. We’re going home,” Drusilla backed away slowly, seeming to draw Charlotte after her. “Do be good pets and tell your Master Will is with his mum.”

“Oh dear Lord,” Hugh gasped, turning a lighter shade of pale. “Drusilla!”

“So Council’s little worm knows his betters? Smart boy!” She snapped her fangs together in his direction, delighting in the scent of pure fear rising from the man.

Charlotte had crept closer while Drusilla was pre-occupied with Hugh, holding her arms out to grab Will.

The vampiress moved swiftly, scoring Charlotte’s cheek with her sharp nails. “Like dark chocolate you are. Don’t try it, dearie,” she hissed, licking the girl’s blood delicately from her nails. “He’ll be dead before you touch him.”

Charlotte fell at Drusilla’s feet, clutching her face as the blood dripped through her fingers. “What kind of monster are you?”

 _Tsk, tsk!_ “The girl lives with the wolf and Daddy, and yet has no clue when faced with his childe. Silly creature, my William – she won’t last long, living in ignorance of his true self.”

With an indignant squawk, Charlotte attempted to staunch the wounds on her cheek. “Hey, I know he’s a vampire, and I know all about…”

“In a bloody cage, he is,” Drusilla hissed, baring her fangs once more. “And my William used to rattle the bars with the worst of them – his fangs would have rent you open from collar to hem without a second thought. Now Princess will have to teach him all over again.”

Buffy felt like crying. She knew there wasn’t a thing she could do to save the boy – the horror of such a young child being turned made her stomach roil. She wasn’t used to praying… she was far more of a take things into her own hands kind of gal, but being statuefied had taken away her other options. Buffy prayed for the boy’s innocent soul to be saved… Spike had earned that soul with his pain and suffering the first, or was it the second time around… it would kill him to lose it to that bitch once again.

Why didn’t Hugh do something? And where the hell was Angel? This was his loonytunes relative. His responsibility.

_I should have staked the ho years ago._

Staring at the Watcher in question, Buffy noticed a strange, silvery mist form above Hugh’s head. As if shot from a bow, it entered the man’s head with enough force to break him out of his stasis.

_Holy crap. What the frilly heck was that?_

“Must. Get. Help,” he spat out with some effort. “Can’t do this…” Instead of rushing forward to help, he grabbed Charlotte’s hand, attempting to pull her from the floor and back towards the safety of the hotel.

Drusilla’s thrall broken for a moment, Charlotte turned back and reached out for William one more time. “Come to me, Will…come to Lotte. Time for bed, and Daddy will come up and read you a bedtime story,” she begged, encouraged when the boy began to strain towards her. “That’s right, cutie – come back to me.”

Drusilla snatched William closer to her bosom. “No, my little blackbird. T’isn’t time for bed yet. We’ve still got so many games to play before naptime… and look,” she cried delightedly. “We’ve got more guests for our party!” just as Angel and Connor burst into the little garden, followed by Hugh.

“Put the boy down, Drusilla.”

_Thank God! Someone listened for a change._

Taking advantage of her distraction, Charlotte grabbed the small gold cross she wore around her neck, and pressed it into the vampiress’ ankle, causing her to lose her tight grip on Will for a moment.

“Dark as the night sky – lit by pixies, so sure you know what keeps you safe… aren’t you, dearie? Are you sure?” she growled, dangling the boy by one leg. “Sometimes the pixies lie.”

William showed his indignation at being treated like a rag doll by whining as he thrashed about, trying to right himself. During the struggle, one of Drusilla’s talon-like nails caught in his baby-round calf, causing a thin line of blood to soak into his pants leg, attracting the attention of both vampires.

“Charlotte, back the hell away from her,” Angel barked, his own growl superceding his childe’s. “Dru, put the boy down or so help me I’ll tear him apart limb by limb. I’ve set you on fire once before. Believe me, it will be a great pleasure to light another match and watch you burst into flame.”

Even the crickets stopped chirping at Angel’s threat to his youngest son.

Charlotte crabwalked back to Connor, who helped her up from the ground. Pushing her behind his body for safety, he raised the crossbow he’d been carrying, cocked the bolt and moved the sight between Drusilla and his father. Something was very wrong here.

“Daddy? Have you come back to Princess?” Drusilla’s manner had changed from predatory to meek and submissive. She pouted and stamped her foot. “I just wanted my dark prince at my side.  
He swore he was my destiny.”

“Oh come on, Dru. You know how bad you were when it came to taking care of your pets.” Angel inched closer to his mad childe, keeping his eye on the boy at all times. “You remember all those desiccated birds and cats we had to bury because you kept forgetting to feed them? And how about all those little girls you loved to turn – little dollies, you called them. After a few hours of combing their hair and dressing them up you couldn’t take their demands any longer, and staked them.”

Drusilla whimpered, pulling William back up into her arms. “I’ll take good care of him, Daddy, and then he’ll take care of Princess, like he used to.”

Angel chuckled with amusement. “No can do, Dru. You’ll get tired of the boy before the week is over, and who’d be left to clean up the mess? Me, and all you’d have left would be a dead shell, a boy too young to dance with you, or care for you. He’s a baby, Drusilla. He can hardly walk.”

Will struggled to escape his captor’s hold. With Angel so close, the little boy’s priorities shifted. “Da! Go dada!”

_Atta boy, Spike. Tell that nutbag where you wanna be._

“Daddy can’t save you now, sweet Willy,” she murmured, swaying back and forth..

“Let him go now, Drusilla, or the only thing you’ll be doing is fertilizing the flowers at Buffy’s feet.”

“You wouldn’t kill him! The Angelbeast wouldn’t let a child die, would you? Would he?” Insecurity poured off the vampiress, looking at Angel with hope in her almond shaped eyes.

He shook his head, looking around at the frightened, angry humans behind him, then focused his attention back on his childe. “Can’t let you take the boy. I’d rather see him dead, first. And I’d rather it be at my hand than your fangs.”

Connor’s growl was nearly as impressive as his father’s. The threat against the brother he’d just found didn’t sit well at all with him.

 _Had he really slipped the soul’s shackles? Was that Angelus threatening to kill Spike again? My god, what if this was a way to finally get rid of him?_ Buffy stared hard at the scene before her, desperate to find the soul in the vampire.

By now, Will’s struggles had increased. His whines had progressed to full fledged wails as he tried to push Drusilla away. “Want Dada. Want Dada now,” he cried, turning red in the face from his displeasure.

Drusilla’s face took on a cagey expression. “No, not Daddy after all. Not yet. But he’ll show you the way home, yes, he will. And he’ll remember his mummy, won’t he?” With a mad cackle, Drusilla tossed baby Will at Angel, who only just managed to catch the boy before he hit the ground. If she’d had a heart of flesh, not stone, Buffy would have had a major coronary – but thank God, Will was safe. For the moment.

Without another word, the vampiress backed out of the garden and was gone.

Connor walked in front of his father, crossbow now aimed directly at his heart. “Put the boy down, Angelus.”

Hugh stood with his mouth open, ready to run for his life if Angelus was back on the scene.

Angel groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance. “What is it with you people? I save the kid, and all of a sudden I’m evil?”

“Do you still have that cage in the basement? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to lock yourself in for a day or so for everyone to feel more secure. You’ve got to admit, Dad… it really hasn’t been all that long since Angelus’ last visit. You were pretty convincing there for a bit.” Connor lowered the crossbow with reluctance, torn between safety first, and his feelings for his father.

“What do you mean about Angel going evil,” Charlotte asked Connor, her wide brown eyes still showing the trauma of earlier events. “And who the hell is this Angelus you’re talking about?”

Hugh seemed to have recovered his wits somewhat, and walked with Charlotte back into the hotel. “That’s a story for another day… once we’ve all rested.”

“And I bet he twists it all up and sends that girl running for the hills,” Angel grumbled. “C’mon, William. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.

***

Buffy watched them trudge back inside the hotel, relieved that Drusilla was gone for the moment, and that Will was safe. The babble in her head was relaxed and happy as the boy played with his father and brother in a soothing bubble bath. She could almost feel the tickle of the popping bubbles against her skin.

The ticklish feeling continued, even as Will fell asleep, and Buffy wondered what it could be… like someone trying to contact her? 

_Oh! Maybe Giles or Willow found a way to free me?_

The feeling of a whisper against her skin… followed by the knowledge that someone else had joined the party in her head. Almost familiar and definitely comforting, Buffy let her mind be soothed. As she drifted, a sudden tug of war took place… within moments, she found herself lying on the ground, looking up at her marble prison.

“What the fuck?”

Buffy stood, watching as she walked _through_ large rocks and grass. However, when she tried to walk through the door to the hotel, she bounced back, landing on the ground.

“Great, the one thing I can feel is a Buffy barrier.” She pouted, not that there was anyone around to see it. She looked at herself, able to see through her shimmery limbs. So many questions to be answered. Could she be seen by someone else? Or heard? Was she permanently free of the statue, but condemned to exist just in the garden?

“To hell with it all,” she yelled, dancing around the place in an ironic imitation of Drusilla. “What a relief to have surround-sound vision!”

She was free, and that was all that mattered.


	9. Conversations with my Sister

The destruction of the Council had taken the lives of most of Lydia Chalmers’ fellow Watchers, and left her little more than a comatose bag of battered bones. Blissfully unaware of her physical state for six months, she had awoken to horrific pain as her body and mind knit themselves back together. It had taken another year for the nursing staff to deem her well enough to go home.

Home. Not all it was cracked up to be, though certainly an improvement over the convalescent wing in hospital. Mum and Father were overjoyed to have their daughter alive and kicking – at least, metaphorically, and accommodated her disabilities by renovating the old servant’s quarters on the main floor. They’d spared no expense decorating according to Lydia’s smallest requests, but it just wasn’t the same as the rooms she’d grown up in. Nothing was the same anymore.

Her daily routine? A daily exercise in torture. It had taken her ten minutes to disentangle herself from her bedcovers, fifteen minutes to hobble over to the bathroom, and another hour to complete her ablutions. Whereas most people were left invigorated after their morning routine, Lydia Chalmers stood panting for breath and sweating enough to almost warrant a second shower.

Lydia was hurting, body and soul. She was not yet thirty but felt like an ancient crone. A hag who’d achieved little or nothing in life. Her biggest honors came in her first years as Watcher – her thesis on William the Bloody, the vampire who’d ended up dying to save the world.

_Great legacy, Mesdames et Monsieurs._

She’d had great hopes for updating that thesis. When last she’d spoken with the vampire, he’d seemed amenable to an interview. Downright cheeky, flirting with her like that. Then the Council went up in flames and she’d lost years. The explosion had left her with next to useless legs and muscles that spasmed all night long. “They would never heal,” the doctors said. “You would never walk again.” But she’d proven them wrong… all of them, with their superior attitudes and stupid clipboards. It had taken her two years, but with her crutches, braces and a lot of patience, she could maneuver.

But then she’d lost _him_. Damned shame, that. Slight crush aside, William the Bloody – Spike – had been an extraordinary demon.

Faced with the prospect of leaving her rooms, Lydia hesitated. She was dog-tired; hardly slept anymore. Grabbing her cache of pills off the dresser, she made her way to the kitchen, requesting a light lunch from Tilly, her family’s cook of the past twenty years.

Swallowing pill after pill, Lydia wished her nightmares were as controllable as her pain. No sooner would she begin to doze off, when the deafening explosions would begin. Body parts of friends and colleagues alike would rain down all around as flames blocked the exits. Flying debris and falling bookcases took her down time and time again. Her own screams woke her up every, single, time.

She checked her watch. “Noon already,” she murmured, noting the time for her next dose of medication and wondered if it wasn’t too early… no, she owed him one, anyway.

“Tilly, would you be a dear and get me the phone? I do think it’s just the perfect time to give my younger brother a wake-up call.”

Lydia punched in the familiar number, listening as the familiar beeps and boops gave way to an American ring-tone. “Hello, Hugh,” she chirped with a cheerfulness she rarely felt anymore. “I hope I didn’t awaken you.” A low, whimpered groan met her ear. She couldn’t help but smile as her brother apparently needed time to remember his own name. “How are things by you?”

“Mmup,” he mumbled. “Bloody hell, Lyds. Do you know what time it is over here?”

“Oh, poor Hugh. Still have trouble waking up easily, do you? No perhaps you’ll remember the time difference when you call me.”

“It was once, Lydia,” he groaned. “Just one sodding time out of a dozen that I forgot. Can’t you forgive me for one blunder?” He didn’t sound half as upset about it as he pretended to be.

“Sorry, dear,” she laughed. “That’s what big sisters are for. To make life a living hell for their baby brothers. Even when they’re old and gray. On a more serious note… how are things working out for you with the souled vampire and your mutual project? Is he treating you any better? Are you getting along with that girl? What was her name… Charlotte?”

“Please don’t ask me. Things have gotten worse with Mr. Angel, and as for Charlotte – she must hate me by now.”

The defeat in her brother’s voice was palpable, and Lydia couldn’t help but worry for him.

“What happened? Did he hurt you? If he did, let me know and I’ll get Father to send a cadre of Slayers after the beast. I swear I will.”

Hugh sighed. “He barely acknowledges my existence. Hurting me would be a step in the right direction. And after tonight’s debacle, well… I don’t know what in the blazes I’m still doing here.”

“Hugh, don’t.” Lydia’s exasperation nearly choked her. Her brother could be as frustrating as their father. When you wanted to know something, it was like pulling out a vampire’s fangs. Very, very hard work and nearly impossible to do without getting bitten for your troubles.

“Do you want me to ask Father to find a position for you back home? Really, Hugh. Torturing yourself over the Council’s latest ‘most important project’ isn’t helping anyone.”

Lydia shivered, remembering when she was in the thick of things. The Council’s library was open to her at whim. She’d spend hour after hour amongst the musty smelling books and low lit reading rooms. They were some of the happiest times of her life. Sad, but true – she’d never been more content than when she’d been nose deep in research, away from the distractions of a normal life.

And now? She’d give her left crutch to have the Council’s old archives back in existence. Maybe she would contact Mr. Giles on her own behalf. There had to be something she could do for the new Council. Then she’d be available to help Hugh, too.

She drank her tea and took nibbles of her toast. Tilly’d been warned. Nothing too heavy for Miss Lydia. Doctors orders. Nothing to overtax her kidneys. Bah, humbug. So involved with her thoughts of the future, she almost missed her brother’s frantic plea.

“No! No bloody way, Lyds.” He was petrified; his voice shaking in terror. “Please, no. If you ever cared for me, don’t interfere in this, love. I can do it. I swear, I just…”

The abject silence was deafening, and it made Lydia hate the miles that separated her from Hugh. Nowhere near as much as she hated Angel at the moment. Dear Lord, she wished he’d been the one to die in Sunnydale instead of the other one.

“I’m a coward,” Hugh interjected. The words hurt her as much now as they did the last time she heard him utter them. When he’d failed the Watcher’s field test.

“Oh, sweet Percival, thou art no coward.” Lydia lapsed into childhood banter. “Thou are my brave knight, who saved me from many a foul fate.”

But Hugh wouldn’t pick up on the expected response.

“I ran, Lydia. I just ran. She expected me to be a hero, and I just… ran.”

“Enough, brother,” Lydia demanded. “Was the danger too great for you to handle? Did you run and hide, or were you seeking help?”

“It was Drusilla.”

“Drusilla, the Mad? Angel’s childe?”

“Yes,” he whispered, a combination of awe and fear coloring his words. “It was the she-devil, herself. She’d grabbed Angel’s son and I… all I could think of was running for help, whilst I made Charlotte face off against that monster on her own.”

“You made her? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“Fine, then. I left her in that mad vampire’s clutches and it was just luck that I ran into Angel and his other son walking into the lobby. Oh, Lyds,” he croaked, voice tight with restraint. “She could have died, or worse. And the baby…”

“You wouldn’t have stood a chance against her, my darling brother,” Lydia soothed. “Drusilla isn’t some fledgling used for field training. She’s dangerous. It would have been suicide to try and take the child away from her.”

_Silence_

“What’s the first lesson taught by the Council, Hugh?” She tried again, desperate to break through his self-loathing. “Stay alive. You can’t help anyone if you die attempting to play the hero.”

“Charlotte didn’t run,” came the quiet rejoinder.

“Charlotte didn’t run because she didn’t know enough to be afraid. She didn’t know the situation she was dealing with. You did. Knowing your limits is not a bad thing, Hugh. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor.”

“Thank you, dear girl. What would I do without you?”

Lydia sighed, not buying his false bravado for a moment. “Any time, my Percival. I guess you’ve decided to stay on, then? In spite of that vampire’s foul treatment?”

“I want to be a Watcher, Lydia. In one capacity or another.”

Her heart broke for him all over again. Twenty five generations of Watchers in one family and Hugh had been the first one to break the string. It didn’t help any that she could understand why he’d been passed over, but she hurt for him all the same.

“But I can’t,” he continued. “I’ll never have a slayer of my own, or do anything that’s… anything truly important. But I can do something. I can help the senior slayer. For the first time since university, I believe I can actually do some good. I can’t stop now. I can’t… won’t, disappoint Mr. Giles any more than I have today. The mortification of having my new employer call the Council to tell them I’m less than useless was a new low, even for me.” Hugh paused, taking a deep breath. “Mr. Giles called me to the carpet like an errant schoolboy taken to task for failing at exams.”

“Oh, Hugh!” God, she wished she could reach through the phone to knock some sense into him. “Mr. Giles knows you’re doing your best. If anyone knows the difficulties of working with _that_ vampire, it’s him. Has there been any progress at all on Ms. Summers’ behalf? Any hopeful leads?”

“I’ve not been allowed to step foot in the library as of yet, but I won’t give up, sweet girl. I will stay the course and eventually Mr. Angel will have to allow me to help.”

“That’s a brave lad. You stick to your convictions and demand to have access to those texts. It’s your strong suit, Hugh. Research. Work the Internet. I’d be willing to help if you’d let me. If he’d not get his knickers in a twist.”

Hugh laughed at that. “So, you want in with another vampire? Is that what it’s all about for you?”

Lydia practically snorted, a habit she’d not been able to break since childhood. “As you well know, my interest in vampires only extended to one, in particular,” she insisted. “And he’s gone now. Let’s just… no more talking about it, Hugh. It breaks my heart that William the Bloody is no longer around. I would have loved to continue my thesis… it would have been something for the ages. His story, firsthand.”

There was a pregnant pause in the conversation when Lydia was sure her brother had something more to add, but the moment passed in silence.

“Do you want to talk about Nate?” she asked, ending the awkward silence.

“Not really. Would you mind not discussing Mr. Andrew Nathanial Chalmers the Fourth right now, Lyds? I think one brutal humiliation per phone call is sufficient.”

“It’s all right, pet. I understand. Nate can be a bit trying, even at the best of times. You know he does love you – in spite of being a royal arse on occasion.”

Lydia expected the oft recited litany than followed.

“Yes, I know. Nate loves me. Mum loves me. Father loves me. _You_ love me…”

“Stop, Hugh.” She giggled, unable to suppress her mirth. “Stop before you get to Tilly and the litter of kittens found in the stables. We all love you, pet. It’s no secret.”

“I-I know. It’s just… I just wish that Mum and Father would actually show some disappointment at my failures.”

“Are you daft?”

“Take Nate, for example. Every little bump along the way to becoming a Watcher was criticized and analyzed for hours, until he’d corrected it and bettered himself. And you, Lydia – the same thing.”

“And this is what you want? To be hounded for the smallest of errors?” Lydia was incredulous.

“No, pet. That’s not it at all and you know it,” Hugh sighed. “I think by the time I was born they had no expectations left. Mum and Father had their perfect family, and I was simply an afterthought. It never mattered what I did or did not do, since they already had the perfect son and daughter.”

“But they… that’s not…” Lydia would have stamped her foot if she were able. “I’m too tired for this argument, Percival. You know it’s not true. They may be a mite easier on you because you’re the baby of the family. That’s all. We’ll talk again, soon. In the mean time, don’t let Angel ignore you. Make yourself the raspberry seed in his fangs. If you’re always under his nose, he’ll have to take notice and deal with you.”

“You’d better hope he doesn’t decide to drain me dry, first,” Hugh grumbled.

“Cute. Very cute, sweet boy. I’ll check some of the more private archives to see if I can come up with something helpful in your quest. Be well, Hugh.”

“Be well, Lyds. And thanks… for everything.”

_**click**_


	10. Shuffle Forward

The Hyperion’s lobby rang with childish glee as Charlotte and Connor chased after the children. William tore through the place as if the hounds of hell were after him, and little Alonna Gunn alternately crawled and toddled after him, trying to catch up.

It brought to mind older times, when Cordelia’s strident shrieks would echo through the room, alternately complaining about demon slime and the high price of dry cleaning, or giddy about a shoe sale. Hell, he missed her so much.

Gunn’s presence confused him if he didn’t focus. He’d been around through all of it. The early days when distrust was evident in every word and movement. The camaraderie of actually being out in the streets, saving people on a one-on-one basis. Those horrid days at Wolfram & Hart, when the group splintered. And the aftermath… the hours he’d sat in the hospital, hoping his friend would survive his wounds. Ceding his place to Anne. Watching them grow closer and marry. Bring a child into the world.

And now he’s joined their ranks. Part of the world after existing for over two hundred and fifty years. Two sons that looked up to him – one miraculously born of his flesh and blood, the other a gift, albeit exasperating at times, from the Powers That Be. Newly married and home from his honeymoon just this past week.

A week spent in a flurry of activity, from inviting everyone important in his boy’s life, to arranging for a real themed bakery cake. Nina, Charlotte and Will voted for Cookie Monster, in shaggy frosted shades of blue, while he put in a bid for a nice hockey rink with a big number two on a centered Oreo puck.

Old blue and smirky sat on the kitchen counter, awaiting its grand entrance. Angel swore it was laughing at him.

_What a difference a year makes._

The walls and columns were festooned with bouquets of multi-colored balloons and hung with crepe paper garlands. The kids from Anne’s shelter hand painted a _Happy Second Birthday, William_ banner they’d taped up on the wall over a table laden with brightly wrapped gift boxes.

This year, Angel was bound and determined to please both Nina and his sons with Will’s second birthday celebration. He made damned sure he’d be sharing his wife’s bed and good graces. The sight of his sons’ happy faces was a bonus. Connor and William had grown close, and were damned near inseparable when they got together. Connor had been more than pleased to help with the party arrangements. He, Nina and Charlotte would spend hours pouring over catalogues and advertisements to pick out just the right decorations and toys. After the planning sessions, more often than not he could be found spending some vigorous playtime with his little brother – acting out stories of monsters and mayhem, giving him piggyback rides and airplane spins. Hunting for bugs in their little garden. It all boiled down to a strange feeling in his chest.

He was happy.

Not perfectly happy, of course. Angel still had Buffy to worry about, and William’s identity to keep secret. And the final millstone around his neck – Hugh. Deep in his heart, Angel could admit that Wesley had been just as uptight and priggish when they’d first met, but the passage of time had softened the memories. Having Hugh up close and personal ripped the bandages off of barely healed wounds, and Angel couldn’t handle the constant reminder of his missing friend. Even after… 

_Could have been worse,_ Angel sighed, shaking his head in resignation. _Giles could have sent Andrew. There wasn’t a court of law in this dimension or any other that would hold him responsible if he’d simply drowned the little pup._

At least the bane of his existence wasn’t around for the time being. Some family thing or another. Angel was truly grateful.

He smiled as Charlotte ran by, hunting after Alonna again. She’d been running after the kids for the past hour – neither of them much inclined to nap before the guests had arrived. Charlotte was a true godsend. Not only was she good with clients and phones for Angel Investigations, but Will adored her, and would mind her at times when he wouldn’t either Nina or himself. As for Alonna Kate Gunn? Charlotte loved watching after her when Charles or Anne dropped her off for a playdate. She was always surprising the little one with hair do-dads or small stuffed animals. Thanks to her ease with the children, Angel found Gunn easing his way back into his life. His fear of losing the last of his friends still standing subsided each time he heard the children’s happy laughter.

Walking through the room, Angel batted several of the balloons as he passed by, smiled as Connor swooped by with a giggling William. He couldn’t deny the boy was growing on him day by day. Nina adored Will. Having been around the boy so early on in his life, there were no problems with biological clocks ticking, for fear of passing on the werewolf genes. Nina was William’s mother in every sense of the word. And he was the boy’s father, as simple as that.

As Angel reached up to refasten a fallen garland by the front door, he heard familiar voices arguing as they neared. He opened the door, surprising both Willow and Giles, who seemed to school their features as they greeted him and entered the building.

“Hello, Angel.” Willow planted an exuberant kiss on his cheek. “Mistletoe,” she said, pointing out a large sprig above the door. “And how’s the new groom doing?”

“I’m happy.” Noticing Giles’ rather intense stare, he added, “But not too happy, thank you very much for being so concerned.”

“Stupid vampire,” Willow snorted, punching him in the arm as she looked around. “Now, where’s the birthday boy? I have a little giftie for him,” she said, waving her present around before she walked off in search of the child.

Giles just sighed, shifting his own wrapped package from hand to hand before offering one in greeting. “I suppose congratulations are in order, though I never thought you’d fall in for the convention of marriage.”

 _Still has a stick up his ass when it comes to me. Hard to blame him with our past, I guess._ Angel shrugged his shoulders, an enigmatic smile gracing his lips.

“Is there someplace I could put this down, Angel? Or do I need to stand here like a statue for the rest… oh bloody hell, man. I didn’t mean… well, you know.” Color rose in the man’s cheeks as he avoided the vampire’s gaze.

Angel stared at the open garden door, unable to keep his thoughts from wandering to Buffy. Not a clue had been found in the past year as to her condition, and he’d begun to wonder if it hadn’t been a bad idea to insist on keeping her here as a reminder of his failure to protect her. If it weren’t for the fact that Will seemed enamored with the statue… always running outside and showing off his favorite toys to her. Sitting under her shadow and babbling to her for hours. It was almost… eerie. There were days Angel was sure she was answering him back when he cocked his head in a startling imitation of his previous self.

He shook his head, rapidly dismissing his foolish ramblings. Will talked to everything he came across, even the toilet, which had never answered him back as far as Angel knew.

Turning back to Giles, his thoughts were interrupted by a semi-naked Alonna toddling rapidly in their direction, followed by a gasping Charlotte.

“Sorry, Angel,” she laughed, grabbing hold of the wriggling child. “This little tickle beast made a daring diaper change escape.”

“Where’s Will?” he called after her, not having seen the boy in awhile.

Before she could answer, he heard a crash and a yelp coming from the direction of the downstairs bathroom.

“Best be off then, Angel,” Giles smiled, the ice finally broken. “Seems as though you’re now dealing with demons in the daylight hours. This time they’re little ones. Must be how you’ve kept your girlish figure.”

Angel growled as he raced to the bathroom in search of his son, wondering why nobody else was looking after him.

“Nina!” Angel’s roar could be heard throughout the hotel, bringing his wife running from the kitchen and the rest of the crowd closed in, worried about little Will.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, clutching her blouse as she collapsed against the wall. “Somebody get a camera, now!”

Gunn took up the call and headed for the door when Angel stomped out holding the boy at arm’s length, his little head covered in a mess of honey blond spikes and curls. And his hands… dripping with Angel’s very expensive hair gel.

“Now _that_ is rich, dude. He’s still callin’ you on your product fetish.” Gunn chortled, barely holding the camera steady as he clicked away. “You wouldn’t be havin’ none of this mess if you’d just shave off all that hair.”

“Spikes, Daddy. I make more spikes.” Will rubbed his gloppy hands in Angel’s hair, the excess gel dripping down his face.

A hush broke out over the entire room. Angel’s well known predilection for keeping his coiffure intact had everyone on full alert status in case he overreacted with the child in his arms.

Angel tried his damnedest to keep his cool. He glowered. He growled. And in the end he just giggled. “Spike… you want spikes, huh? All right, big boy. Just remember, you asked for it.” He grabbed the child by the ankles and held him upside down, allowing the weight of the gel to pull Will’s hair into points as it dripped onto the floor.

“Plane, Daddy. Make me fly like Connor,” Will squealed, wriggling about like a little worm on a hook.

Charlotte grabbed for the boy under his armpits, laughing when Angel spun him out of her reach. “All right, all right. Enough now, you guys. Time for Lotte’s big boy to take a quick bath, and we’ll be right back for food, cake and prezzies.”

She sidled up to the grinning vampire, smiling apologetically. “I’m really sorry, Angel. I couldn’t be in two places at the same time, what with chasing after Alonna. She’s a slippery little thing.” Charlotte held out her hand for Will to jump into.

“Bye, Daddy,” he said, with a sloppy kiss to Angel’s even sloppier forehead. “I go with Lotte now.”

“Oh, no you don’t, boyo. I think it’s time we share the birthday joy with our friend Giles.” With a maniacal grin worthy of Angelus, he shoved William at the startled man, causing him to drop his gift to the floor.

Giles held the dripping child at arm’s length. “H-hello, William,” he stammered uncomfortably. “Happy birthday, lad.”

The little boy’s bright blue eyes lit up with joy. “It’s my birfday, man. I’m this many years old.” Will held up two fingers, fascinated as the gel continued to drip down his arm as it warmed to his body temperature.

Angel tried hard to restrain his laughter. He’d lose his broody credentials for sure if he burst out with the belly laugh he was trying to hold in. “That’s right, Will. And he brought you a present. Why don’t you give Giles a great big thank you hug?”

Unable to deny the little boy in his arms, Giles allowed the hug. He felt the warm goop as it dripped down his neck and into his shirt.

“I wanna go with Lotte now.” William hugged Giles again, wiping his hands on the front of his jacket. “Bye, man.”

“Um, yes. Bye now, William.” He handed the child over to Charlotte, then retrieved the present from the floor where he’d dropped it.

“Sorry, Mr. Giles. I don’t know what got into Angel.” Charlotte glared mildly at her employer. “He gets cranky when he misses his nap.” She snickered, settling Will on her hip. “You can put your gift over on the table with the others. And there are plenty of fresh towels in the bathroom so you can try to mop that stuff off with.”

With a growl, Angel stomped up the stairs – desperate to get his hair and his laughter under control.

“Those scowls don’t fool me, Mister,” Nina called up after her husband. “Ya big baby.”

***

Anne wiped the tears from her eyes as Alonna’s head drooped on her mama’s shoulder. “I’m still amazed that this is the same vamp who couldn’t be bothered with Will’s birthday last year. What did you threaten him with?”

Nina snickered. “It wasn’t what I threatened him with, kiddo. It was more what I promised him _without_. He’s still a long way from perfect, but it’s getting better. There are times when he’s genuinely fond of the boy, like just now. And then sometimes… I don’t know what it is but he’ll pull back. You can see that nothing Will does rates attention, and then they’re both miserable.”

“Well, you must be doing something right. Will’s a happy little kid and sweet as pie.” Anne shifted her now sleeping daughter into a more comfortable position. “Alonna loves her play dates here.”

“I just adore Will. After the whole ‘becoming a werewolf’ thing, I never thought I’d get to experience motherhood. He just makes me all kinds of happy.” Nina sniffed the air, then checked her watch. “Kitchen duty calls. Time to take the lasagna pans out of the oven. Lunch is about to be served.”

***

One year ago Buffy thanked her lucky stars for the freedom of traipsing about in the little garden – spiritually freed from her stone prison. Today it choked her as she made yet another circuit around the small enclosure.

Almost everyone she cared about was inside the hotel literally feet away from her, The open door tormented her. They could pass through and back, while she was stuck leaning up against the invisible barrier like a starving child against a pastry shop window. Buffy banged against it ineffectually. She cursed at it like a sailor on leave, using some of the more colorful phrases Spike had taught her over the years. Nobody saw or heard a thing.

 _Happy birthday, Spike. Two years old today and you’re still not exactly following the rules, are you? No Little Bad for you, I bet._ Buffy felt an answering giggle and flushed with the imaginary warmth of the boy’s feelings.

Something brushed past her as Angel’s laughter rang throughout the room, drifting out towards Buffy through both the open door and her connection with the little boy. Looking around, there was nothing to be seen but swirling leaves, and she turned her thoughts back towards the party.

Buffy had never heard Angel laugh out loud before. Not old Broody Pants. It was a wonderful sound, and even if she’d never heard it directed at herself, at least it was aimed at William. She’d seen the changes in their relationship over the past year. Well, heard mostly, and felt the happiness of a well loved child.

She felt a sudden empathy with Spike… vampire Spike. To be unable to enter a home even with its door flung wide open. To stand on the outside and just watch – never one of the group – as she and the Scoobies had done to Spike and to a lesser extent, Anya over the years. Right now, she’d have given anything to be able to join in the festivities.

Buffy wondered what it would have been like if the thrice damned Immortal hadn’t done this to her. If she’d been able to leave him as she’d attempted. Would Angel have turned her away out of jealousy or spite? Would he have kept her away from Spike? Maybe she’d have become the weird Auntie who visited from time to time. Or, even more wiggy, she could have been Spike’s mother by now, instead of Nina.

_Oh god! Changing Spike’s diapers and coming face to face with little Spike! After coming face to face with big Spike! Too wig-worthy to even think about._

As the shiver-inducing images flashed through her brain, Buffy felt it again – the strange brush of something against her incorporeal body. It sparked against her skin like static electricity.

“Who are you?” She’d not realized until the words were spoken aloud that it was indeed a ‘who,’ not a ‘what.’ Her mind had known it before she did.

A quick pivot around the garden to check for some sign of the entity there with her proved fruitless, until out of the corner of her eye, Buffy spotted a black haze duck behind her statue. It was gone by the time she got there. As if in answer to her query, her hair fanned out behind her – caught in a non-existent breeze.

“Who are you?” she repeated, more curious than frightened. A touch to her chin was accompanied by a chuckle. Still, nothing she could see, just feel. Even the laughter was more felt than heard. And yet, it was more than that. It evoked a feeling of understanding, as if it knew what she was going through. The isolation. The need to connect. Very, very strange, but not unwelcomed.

The presence felt stuffy, like the old school library. Calm and dusty, filled with the feel of ancient knowledge. It was as familiar as a second skin.

With an intuitive flash she asked: “Do I know you? Have we met before?”

More soft laughter and another brush of _something_ at her back.

Buffy knew it couldn’t be Giles trying to contact her. After all, he was right inside with Willow. Neither one had even bothered to see if she was still standing.

 _Think, Buffy, think! Old, moldy paper smell, patronizing laughter…no, it couldn’t be, could it?_

“Wesley?”

More laughter. This time she watched as a deck of cards materialized on the ground in front of her. They were as insubstantial as she was; grass showing right through the pack.

“What’s with the cards? It’s not like you can make a killing betting on the outcome here. Ghostie with no cash here.”

“Same here, Miss Summers.”

Buffy stood, mouth agape, as Wesley Wyndam-Pryce slowly materialized before her eyes.


	11. On the Right Path

Everyone gathered around for a slice of birthday cake. There were two to choose from; apparently Nina felt sorry for her beleaguered, outvoted at every turn husband, and bought a sheet cake decorated like a National Hockey League rink, complete with plastic nets, licorice ice markings, marzipan players, and the Oreo hockey pucks he’d seemed so fond of.

Will and Alonna sat in their respective high chairs, side-by-side, impatiently awaiting their treat. Angel brought over both pieces, laden with shaggy blue ‘fur.’ While Alonna drew delicate patterns with her fingers in the gooey icing, Will attacked his piece with gusto in the typical two year old fashion – face first.

Angel slowly bit the head off one of the goalies as he watched the children. Even though most of the other guests were content to take chunks out of Cookie Monster, he didn’t mind. It left more of the other cake for him. Chocolate with whipped cream frosting. Ever since their wedding, Angel had developed a taste for it. Might have been the way Nina fed him their wedding cake in bed that revitalized his interest in human food.

Unable to keep his distance from the undeniably cute sight of his son and frosting, Angel knelt in front of Will, scooping up a dollop of the rapidly melting sugar. “Have you seen the cake monster, Will?” he teased, waving his finger in front of the boy’s face.

“Me! I be cake monster,” Will shrieked, grabbing his father’s finger with both hands and bringing it to his mouth. “I eat you up.” He bit down hard, surprising Angel with just how strong his jaws were. He wasn’t really hurt, nor had Will broken skin… but Angel promised himself he’d speak to the boy about not biting in the future. It was an ironic bit of, well… irony.

Will brought his hands down on the food tray with a splat, sending cake crumbs and frosting globs everywhere, including Angel’s head.

Several flashes went off, capturing yet another moment for posterity.

“Geeze, kid. That’s the second time today you’ve messed with the hair. What’d I ever do to you?” One look into the bright blue eyes before him had Angel turning away first.

Nina sidled close to the highchair, kneeling down to lick a dot of icing off of Angel’s temple. She’d cut a slice of the hockey cake, and brought a forkful up to her husband’s mouth. He turned it around, slipping the bite of cake between her lips, instead. Gods, how he loved to watch his woman swallow…

A quick dab of her lips with the washcloth she’d brought for William to remove the cake crumbs, Nina winked at her husband and busied herself with cleaning off her boy’s hands and face, leaving Alonna to her mother’s tender ministrations.

“Time for presents, little man. Are you ready?”

He wriggled down from the seat, running over to the gift table without uttering a single word.

Angel smiled, secretly proud of himself. He’d been awaiting this moment for months. All the hours he’d spent looking for the most popular toy for little boys were about to pay off. Not even Nina knew what he’d decided on. He pulled the large box out from under the table and set it before his son, tearing a little corner of the paper to make it easier to open.

Will didn’t disappoint. He wasted no time in decimating the pretty paper to reveal a child sized battery operated Hummer Ride On car.

With a deft bit of maneuvering, Angel lifted the already assembled car from the box and set the boy inside, buckling the seat belt and showing him how to turn on the ignition.

“Mama!” Will’s frightened wails drowned out the sound of the car’s motor, followed by a loud chorus of ‘awwwwws’ from their audience.

Angel dropped to his knees trying to soothe the boy, but no amount of coddling would keep Will in the car. He maneuvered himself out of the seatbelt and launched himself at Nina, wiping his tears away with the back of his hands.

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Nina soothed her husband’s ruffled feathers. “Some kids are afraid of little stuffed animals. I’m sure Will’ll be tearing around the lobby in no time at all.” She turned to her son, brushing away the last of his tears. “All right, sunshine. Show Mama which present you want to open next.”

Safe in his mother’s arms, Will reached for a gift hastily wrapped in model airplane paper. Ripping off the card he laid waste to the thin paper.

“Look, Mama.” He waved the stuffed animal in her face. “A bear and hat and coat.”

“His name is Paddington Bear, Will. And he’s got a lovely red hat and a shiny blue rain coat. Almost like your yellow slicker.” She read the card to see who the gift was from. “That was very kind of you, Rupert. It looks like he’s taken quite a shine to old Paddington already.”

Sure enough, William held the bear tightly to his chest, Eyes closed, lips murmuring endearments, it looked as if he were communing with the thing, and it didn’t please Angel one bit.

“All right, boyo,” Angel practically growled with resentment that Giles’ obviously last minute gift was so well received and his own diligently researched present was left on the sidelines. And feared. “Give Daddy the bear and let’s open another…”

“My bear, Daddy. Paddy bear wants to help.”

Angel couldn’t help hearing the self-satisfied snerk from the Watcher. Vampire hearing wasn’t always a blessing. When he looked up, however, Giles’ face was the very picture of composure; no hint of mockery to be seen.

Gruffly, he dug into the pile and shoved the next gift into Will’s free hand. A little help from Nina and Charlotte’s gift of toddler sized crayons and several pads of paper were applauded by their friends. Will clapped Paddington’s hands together in imitation.

Present after present was treated in the same manner. A red cable knit sweater and a pair of Oskosh b’Gosh overalls from Willow were summarily tossed over his shoulder as he clung to the bear. Interest in the Weeble Fortress from Anne and Gunn lasted a little longer as he showed the roly poly figures to the bear, and made Paddington inspect the building, itself. A farm set of toddler Lego’s from Alonna had Will making animal sounds as he paraded the figurines in the air. At no time did he let Paddington go. Not even when faced with big brother Connor’s gift – a four foot tall stuffed beast of undetermined origin.

Selfishly mollified at the short shrift the other presents received, Angel huffed as the last of the garbage was picked up and stuffed into a trash bag before putting the children back down on the floor.

“Don’t take on so, Angel. He’s just a little boy,” Nina murmured to her husband as Will held out the bear to Alonna and made growly sounds. “Most kids his age would have shown as much interest in the box as he’s showing towards the bear. At least you didn’t come in second to a bit of cardboard.” She grinned, nudging him gently in the ribs.

“Not helping, Nina,” he growled as he slipped his arms around her waist. With a gentle nip to her earlobe, Angel allowed himself to relax back into the party mode he’d tried to engender earlier. “I’m not upset. Much.”

“You’re acting like a big old grizzly beaten to the honey tree,” she snickered, her face aglow with adoration.

“You know I love you, right?” Angel tipped his wife’s chin up, seeing the love in her eyes. “I know I don’t say it often enough, but I cherish you. I, Liam Dowell, love you, Nina Dowell, with all my heart.”

“That’s Nina Ash-Dowell,” she corrected gently. “And I love you, too.”

He grumbled, before kissing the crown of her head. “Modern women.”

“Seventeenth century men,” she whispered back.

“Eighteenth century, if you please! Don’t make me old before my time.”

Their little love-fest was interrupted by Will. 

“Gonna show Paddy bear to Buffy lady,” he shouted. “Her not be alone.” Will headed towards the garden door, Paddington gripped firmly in his arms. He climbed onto the base of the statue to show off the bear, only to scramble back down with a puzzled look on his face.

Angel watched from the door, an overhang providing the smallest bit of protection from the sun. He was glad there were plenty of other people to rush out after the boy at the slightest sign of danger. Worried about his son’s baffled expression, Angel made ready to call him back inside when he did the strangest thing.

Will sat down in the middle of the garden, holding out the damned bear and started talking – into the air. Then he turned slightly to the left and held out his hand as if to shake someone else’s.

 _Is the kid cracked? Having hallucinations?_ Angel worried, calling Nina over to check out the situation.

“Don’t be such a worry-wort, Angel. Imaginary friends are healthy.” She patted him on the behind, before heading back to their friends.

“Maybe,” he muttered. “And maybe he’s seeing spirits.” Tales of Boggarts and dark elves from his childhood made him shiver, and more alert, yet he could see nothing unusual in the garden near the boy.

Angel knew he was being foolish. Just because he was a vampire married to a werewolf, raising his former grandchilde as his now human son didn’t mean he always had to be on the lookout for the strangest possible explanations.

He heard the dry, hated tone of his Council enforced nemesis enter the building and called to his boy. “C’mon, Will. Time to go play with Alonna and join the rest of your guests.”

Will ran up to him, still holding the bear. He wouldn’t let go of it at any time, even as Hugh gave the boy a small toddler’s heavyboard book of London’s landmarks. He watched dispassionately as Alonna played with his new toys without protest. Will clung to it as Nina and Anne shepherded both children over to an air mattress in a quiet part of the lobby for a nap.

At Angel’s menacing glower, Hugh retreated to his desk. Charlotte mirrored his attitude with a frown of her own.

“Don’t you think it’s time you stopped this nonsense, Angel? The poor man’s been here for a year and you’re still treating him like a pariah.”

“I don’t want him here. I never wanted him here. And he hasn’t been of any help in the entire year he’s been here,” Angel growled. “…except to be the Council’s spy.”

Charlotte backed away slowly. This was the first time her boss… her friend… had raised his voice to her in anger, even though it had been directed at someone else.

“I-I’m sorry.” Angel backtracked quickly. He felt as bitchy as Cordelia at her finest. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, Charlotte.”

“It’s not me you need to apologize to, Angel. Hugh might be able to do his job better, if you’d stop handicapping him and give him access to the books he needs.” She looked over at Hugh, sitting with his head in his hands, trying to make himself as small as possible without leaving. “Then he wouldn’t have to have his sister ship him books all the way from England.”

Giles appeared at Angel’s shoulder. “I take it there have been no changes with Buffy? And nothing new with research into her predicament?”

“No thanks to Mr. King of the Castle, here,” Charlotte snorted, walking back towards the party.

Hugh rose, looking as if he were about to say something, but was cut off by a wave of Angel’s hand.

“No. Things are still status quo.”

This time Hugh ignored the evil glare and stood firm, pushing away from his desk. “No! That’s not quite true. I told both of you that I’d found something about the Immortal’s origins and neither one of you has bothered to respond or investigate it further.”

“You what? I’ve heard no such thing!” Giles insisted, whipping off his glasses in agitation.

“But I sent you both emails.” Hugh looked genuinely disturbed. “Don’t you both check it on a daily basis?”

Giles huffed. “Of course I check my email.” He turned to the computer on Hugh’s desk, logged on and checked his account. “See? Not a single email from you.”

Angel smirked when it was clear there was no such email on the docket. There _were_ several emails touting the benefits of Viagra and enlarging your penis, however.

“This is the only place you looked?” Hugh shook his head in disgust. Edging past the elder Watcher, he maneuvered the mouse and clicked on the Bulk Mail folder, Sure enough… sitting amongst even more emails declaring they could save your sagging sex life, was one from **chalmers.h@wc.uk** , dated two weeks prior.

“Sometimes mail gets shifted to the Bulk folder,” he explained with infuriating calm. That’s where ads and unsolicited emails usually end up. And sometimes,” he pointed out with relish. “Sometimes things get sent there in error. You have to check both your Inbox and Bulk folders.”

Giles stared at the computer, looking for all the world as if he wanted to take a sledgehammer to the plastic casing. “Blast these infernal machines. Whatever happened to the bloody post?”

Once again, Angel smiled as Giles dressed down his least favorite person.

“For heaven’s sake, man. Haven’t you heard of telephones? For something as important as this, you should have pulled Angel out of his bloody bed!”

“Hey!” The vampire in question was no longer amused.

“Yes, I have heard of telephones,” Hugh said. “But I’ve also heard of wire taps and even computer hackers. The Immortal is a cagey creature and not adverse to using the modern tools of daily living to further his own agendas. The email I sent was merely to set up a meeting. The Immortal cannot find out we know of his true background. He’s killed before to keep it from becoming common knowledge, and it’s only with the purest of luck and the diligence of my sister hunting around in private archives that we were able to find it.”

“Why the hell didn’t you give me this information directly?” Angel growled.

“Because for the last three weeks, as you’ve done for the past year I’ve been here, you’ve avoided me. And not just because of your wedding and honeymoon, or even the little boy’s birthday. You can’t even stand to be in the same room with me. This whole working together wasn’t my ideal posting either, but I’d discovered the first break in the case, and couldn’t get close enough to let you know.” Hugh’s shoulders sagged with the understanding that he’d once more failed at his task. “I emailed you, as well,” he whispered softly.

Giles rested his hands on the man’s desk, looking directly into his eyes. “Well, rest assured that we’re both listening now. What did you find out?”

“I take it you’ve heard of Michaelangelo Buonarroti? Arguably one of the greatest artists of the Renaissance age until his death on February 18th, 1564. Also, a well-known lover of men. Legend has it that he created a statue for his own pleasure; one so stunning that even he could not keep his eyes from its perfection. In his later years he declined commissions, sometimes quite rudely or created sculptures with a less than flattering eye. He angered one such potential patron – a local woman of means who fancied herself a great beauty.”

“Get to the point already, will you?” Though he knew the information was important, Angel was furious that it intruded upon his son’s birthday. His annoyance with Hugh grew with each passing moment, and he barely managed to keep his gameface in check.

“Michaelangelo got as far as sketching the woman prior to sculpting. The lady was so displeased she accused him of hating women in general, and dishonoring her. All but one of the sketches were destroyed in a mysterious fire. She raged around the village for weeks to any and all that would listen to her, trying to turn away the rest of the master’s commissions.”

“One day the woman disappeared, and Michaelangelo began to keep company with an extraordinarily handsome man. It’s not known how long their relationship lasted. After the master’s death a statue of the missing woman was found in his workshop closet. She, herself, had never returned to her family. The infamous statue that had so captured Michaelangelo’s heart was never found, but there were rumors. Some say the scorned patron called for vengeance before she vanished.”

“So the bastard’s done this before…… and probably many times throughout his history. Is there no word on how to reverse this? Any mention of a vengeance demon granting the wish responsible?”

“Indeed, sir. One I’m sure you’re familiar with. The patron saint of scorned women, known as…” 

“Anyanka,” Giles whispered. “Good Lord, I’d forgotten how long she’d been around.”

“The nature of the wish was unknown, but it’d been said that the sculptor’s beloved statue still walks. What does not live, cannot die. They say it is immortal. The Immortal.”

“And we’re just supposed to take your word for this?” Angel fumed. “An entire year that had the Council working its finest Watchers to the bone, and you come up with the only clue? You and your _sister?_ Who the hell is she, and why do you have her messing around in things that don’t concern her? Why am I hard-pressed to believe a word out of your mouth?”

“Angel, please calm down,” said Giles, in an obvious effort to knock back the volatile situation. “We may be one step closer to finding Buffy’s freedom if you’ll give the lad a bloody chance. And as for whom Lydia Chalmers is…”

The vampire closed his eyes, a headache of massive proportions threatened to overwhelm him. “Don’t tell me she’s the twit who wrote that paper on William the Bloody? Spike told me about it and all its misinformation during one of his more spectacular drunken binges.” He turned to Hugh, shaking his head from side to side. “And this is the crack team I’m supposed to put my faith in for answers?”

Giles took pity on the young man, and answered for him. “It doesn’t matter who was responsible, or even how the information was found., Angel. The demon who caused this – who apparently created The Immortal – that demon is dead. She died in the battle against The First on the Hellmouth three years ago. She was… a friend. Her name was Anya.”

That stopped Angel in his tracks. The sorrow in the Watcher’s voice was palpable. “How about another vengeance demon? Or why not go straight to the top and get the big guy… what’s his name?” For an insane moment, Angel could hear Buffy’s voice in his ear, with her fractured California-speak calling him Dorito. “D’Hoffryn, I believe is his name.”

“Out of luck there, too, Angel. Buffy slayed D’Hoffryn with The Immortal’s help some two and a half years ago.” Giles shook his head with new understanding. “Right after she met him, The Immortal brought her evidence of D’Hoffryn’s foul intentions towards humans – he would play an increased part in their torment. – so he helped her take to demon out. My God, we should have known something was wrong.”

“And I’m just finding this out now, Giles? This could have been important!”

Giles sneered, as unnervingly arrogant as Angelus at his best. “First and foremost, we don’t answer to you, Angel. I didn’t think it was important. He helped Buffy fight many demons over the course of their relationship. It’s how he gained her trust in the first place. How he wormed his way into our inner circle. I didn’t even think he could be as foul and manipulating as…”

“Like you never told me about Spike fighting all those years with you, or that debilitating chip. Geeze, Rupert. You hoard all this news to yourself and then wonder why it comes back to bite you on the ass.”

“I didn’t…”

“And then, after I finally… _finally_ get used to having Spike here with me…”

“Daddy! Paddy bear play computer now?” William appeared by Angel’s side, pulling on his pants leg to gain his attention; surprising him.

“Weren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” Angel let out a mock sigh, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately.

“Too much noise. Wanna play now.”

“Daddy’s busy, Will. Can’t you go play with Charlotte?”

Will pouted and stamped his foot. “No Lotte. Wanna play here. Show Paddy bear the computer. Now!”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you what a pain in the ass you were boyo? Go away and find your Mama and let me do what I have to.”

The pout on the child’s face was so familiar; almost as if he’d refused to give Spike the keys to the old Viper. Those beautiful blue eyes were the same that kept the young fledgling from being dusted a hundred times over back in the day of the Scourge of Europe.

“Really, Angel,” Giles admonished gently. “He’s just a little boy. If he’s that much trouble for you, I can always take him back with me to England, where I’m sure…”

“You don’t dare lay a hand on him!” Angel hadn’t realized he’d dropped his human mask until he saw the two Watchers backing off. He hadn’t realized he’d been shouting until he saw Will cringing at his feet. He quickly pulled the boy into his embrace. Hugging him. Protecting him. Remembering…


	12. The Coming of the Dawn

_“Spike doesn’t know the meaning of the word responsible, Angel. It took me a while to figure him out. He’s like a child that needs guidance. One hundred and twenty years of murder and mayhem led around by the attention span of a two year old.”_

_Giles looked down his nose at him, disdain dripping from every word. “Who’s going to point him in the right direction? You? He’s a vampire; it’s in his nature to thrill in the fight, and we’ll give him more than his fair share of engagements. He’ll be kept from getting in over his head and endangering either himself or anyone else. With any luck, we’ll manage to keep his screw ups under control. It’s what you do with childish natures like Spike’s.”_

“Angel! Snap out of it, man!” Giles voice roused the vampire from his fugue. “Where were you just now? Is everything all right?”

William’s squirming had taken on a frantic quality. “Daddy hurt me,” he cried. “Lemme go.”

Hugh stepped forward, reaching out to take the boy from his grasp. “Angel, perhaps it would be best if you gave me…”

“Get out! Get the fuck out of my sight!” he bellowed, eyes flashing amber with his anger.

The younger Brit paled and sat down at his desk, hiding his head in his hands as if hoping he would simply disappear.

Angel then turned his wrath on Giles. “Why are you so interested in breaking up my family, old man? Did you think I’d forgotten? Spike’s just a child, right? An immature idiot with no attention span. He’d benefit from your _guidance_. I remember every word you spoke to me outside that infirmary door. Same argument, only this time he’s a real child and far less able to speak up and defend himself.”

“I didn’t let you take Spike when I thought he was still a potential threat to the populace, so what the hell makes you think I’d let you take him now?”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Giles promised, using his best conciliatory tones. “We’ve updated the Council. There’s even a nursery for our single parent Watchers. Young William will have plenty of children to play with – he wouldn’t be as isolated as he is here. And he’d be able to go out into the sunshine as any normal human child would.”

Angel’s voice remained thick with anger, though the amber had bled from his eyes. “William goes out in the sunlight now, Giles,” he hissed. “He has playdates, he laughs… he loves his mother and father. The boy is happy and healthy and strong. He doesn’t need your minions treating him like a guinea pig because he used to be a vampire.”

The sound of Hugh’s heartbeat ratcheting up a notch or three gave the vampire pause, but only for a moment as he turned back to Giles, who was still speaking.

“Just think on it, man. We all want what’s best for the boy.”

Angel loomed large into the man’s personal space, as menacing now as he’d been several years ago in the Infirmary’s hallway. “If you ever bring this garbage to my wife,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard. “If Nina catches any wind of this conversation – that you don’t think she’s fit to raise William, I’ll have your intestines woven through the banister.”

He banged his fist onto the desk for emphasis, startling William enough to stop his crying for the moment. Without another word, Angel turned on his heel and made ready to leave.

“Bear, Daddy,” Will sniffed, reaching down towards the floor where he’d dropped his new friend, Paddington.

With a growl, Angel grabbed the animal, shoving it into Will’s arms, then spirited the boy into his office, slamming the door behind them. He’d already lost one son’s childhood to a Watcher. He wasn’t about to go through that again.

By the time Nina entered the office with a warm mug of blood and a sippy cup of chocolate milk, Angel had calmed somewhat by focusing his energies into sketching his son. Will sat on the floor by his desk, happily scribbling in his coloring book and chatting away with his Paddy Bear. Image after image of the boy’s cherubic face filled the page.

“Don’t worry about anything, sweetie. Everyone understands you need some time to yourself and Will looks none the worse for wear. Isn’t that right, big boy?” She reached down, ruffling the child’s curls.

“Paddy Bear too, Mama.” He held the toy up for Nina to pet and then returned to his coloring.

“I’m sorry, Nina,” Angel murmured, finally looking up into her eyes. “I didn’t mean to ruin things. Giles just… he just…” Words escaped him. He couldn’t voice how scared he’d been – what he’d thought when Giles suggested taking Will from him… from them.

It wasn’t like he’d wanted the boy in the first place, but once he was there – a reality – somehow the kid managed to get under his skin. No, to be honest, that was a lie. Spike had gotten under his skin over a century ago, when he’d first lain eyes on the newly turned fledge. Like a bloodstain he’d never be able to cleanse from his soul. So used to it, that the world felt empty for those few moments when his loss seemed imminent. 

“I don’t know what went down between you guys, but Rupert is honestly sorry for upsetting you.”

“He didn’t tell you what was said?”

Nina shook her head. “Not a word. Just that he…”

“He said… implied… that I’m not a good enough parent for a human child,” Angel blurted out the words quickly, taking the focus onto himself, lest Nina feel her parenting was called into question as well.

“Rupert said that. In those _exact_ words.”

“Well, no…”

“Then what _exactly_ did he say that’s got you so upset?”

Angel’s brown eyes grew shiny as he held his emotions in check. “He said he would take Will back to England with him – to be raised by the Council. In sunshine, as he deserved with other human children.”

“Oh, Angel.” Nina hugged her husband tightly around his broad shoulders. “Surely you misunderstood him. Rupert would never…”

The note of anger in her voice delighted him, both man and demon. She was willing to fight for Will. For family.

“Will is ours, isn’t he? Legally… or as legally as anything in the demon/human world. They can’t just take him away, can they?”

“He’s ours, Nina.” Angel smiled at Will as the boy drew something vaguely resembling a tree. “I had Gunn draw up the adoption papers. They’re airtight. The boy is ours.” _He had to be._

“Then don’t worry about Rupert, baby. He was probably just pulling your leg. Besides,” she whispered, nuzzling the nape of his neck. “You two are always pushing each other’s buttons. I’m sure our son is safe.”

Angel couldn’t shake the feeling of distress coursing through him, but acquiesced to his wife’s better nature and drew her into a soft kiss.

“Come out soon, hon. Gunn and Anne need to get Alonna home and Hugh and Charlotte…well, I think he finally had to courage to ask her out on a real date.”

“What? Is she insane?” Angel’s anger shifted to his more current nemesis as he forced himself out from behind the desk. “What could she possibly see in that…”At a loss for words, he stared out the window at the couple standing in the shadows at the far end of the room, apparently deep in small talk.

Nina graced him with that ‘silly man’ smile she’d honed to perfection. “If you’d been paying that man the slightest attention over the past year, you’d have noticed. They’re really quite fond of each other.”

“But she’s supposed to be on my side.”

All that his whine produced was an eye roll from his wife. And yet, he forged on.

“She’s pretty, intelligent… what does she want with a dolt like _him_ for?” Even to his own ears Angel knew he sounded like a belligerent… brother annoyed with his kid sister’s choice in men. 

“He’s a good man, Angel. He’s here to help if you’d only let him. I heard about the information he found,” she admonished, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “You can’t deny his perseverance without a single crumb of encouragement from you.”

At his growl, Nina added: “And don’t you dare do anything to interfere with Charlotte’s personal life. It’s none of your business.”

“But she’s our babysitter. Our… our family,” Angel insisted, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.

“And she has eyes and a heart of her own. Right now, they’re focused on Hugh. If you get in the way, she’ll resent you and probably quit. You wouldn’t do that to Will, would you? He’d be devastated. The boy loves his Lotte.”

“Me love Lotte lots,” Will chimed in. “Me and Paddy Bear.” 

Angel groaned, grumbled, and groused but eventually he relented, ready to face his guests once again. Throwing open the door, he came nose-to-nose with a somewhat familiar face.

Dawn cocked her head and her hip in an eerie impression of her sister. “I see you’ve been a busy boy since the last time we met,” she quipped.

***

**Ten Minutes Earlier**

Buffy had taken to leaning against the door’s barrier as a sort of battle against ghostly physics. Beating on the damned thing had no effect, but sometimes, if she pushed just right, she managed to make it give a little. Sometimes as much as an inch.

She felt Wesley’s mild laughter at her efforts. He wasn’t visible to her at the moment, but she knew he was around. For some reason his spirit was bound to the hotel and its immediate vicinity. Buffy wasn’t sure if he knew why, or just wasn’t telling her.

The yelling inside drew Buffy face first to the barrier, desperately trying to make out the words. Angel was yelling at Giles about taking Will away. No! Not Will… he said Spike. Oh God, why did he do that? He just confirmed little Will’s previous existence as adult vampire William the Bloody in front of a Council flunky. Who knew what Hugh would do?

_Better get a hold of yourself, Summers. All that rhyming might be a sign of going as nutso as Drusilla. Maybe all that sun beating down on your cranium is frying your brain._

By the time Buffy’s attention re-focused on the fighting inside, Angel had stomped off in a huff and slammed himself into his office, taking the boy with him.

The fear rose in her throat. Buffy didn’t know Hugh from Adam, and worried that it would only be a matter of time before he betrayed them all and snitched the info to the rest of the Council. Her silent cry went unheard as she beat on the barrier in frustration.

Wesley’s sly chiding echoed in her ear. “Why do you always think the worst of people you don’t know, Buffy?”

She turned rapidly, looking for him and found only empty space. Not wanting to leave the doorway in case any more information was forthcoming, Buffy leant backwards into it, staring up at the trees. She wished… and suddenly found her ghostly ass on the ground, _inside_ the Hyperion.

The shock of finding the barrier gone would have taken her breath away had she needed to breathe. Standing in front of Giles, using words she’d not known her little sister even knew, was a furious Dawn.

 _Looks like someone was keeping secrets. So you made Dawnie live through my death yet another time? You tell ‘im, Sis! That was just cruel._ Buffy yelled and pumped her fist in the air, but nobody saw or heard a thing.

Not another word passed between Giles and Dawn for some minutes, but the Watcher was slightly cowed and backed away. Dawn was more than impressive in her righteous anger.

“I’m not a child, Giles.”

The man bowed his head. He seemed so… old.

Buffy watched the exchange, fascinated with the changes in her not-so-little sister. She’d grown since they last saw each other – not only in height but in self-awareness. Dawn had really come into her own. Buffy’s heart ached at not being able to hug or talk to her sister. To hold her in her arms. To smell her favorite perfume. She ghosted her hand over Dawn’s back.

Dawn flinched, almost as if she’d felt Buffy’s touch. She shook her head and strode over to Angel’s office, knocking on the door once. She walked in without waiting for an answer.

Buffy ran after her, waltzing through the door as Dawn closed it just before she could enter the office.

_Cool! Now nobody can keep Buffy the Ghost out of the loop._

***

“What are you doing here, Dawn?” Angel sighed. Not much as greeting went, but he wasn’t in the best of moods.

“Can’t a girl visit her sister? Where is she, Angel?”

 _Shit!_ “She’s outside, in the little garden.”

Dawn stamped her foot, losing the air of maturity she’d brought in with her. “How dare you keep this hidden for me for an entire year? You let me believe she was dead. Again!”

Angel shook his head. “It’s… it’s complicated, Dawn.”

Dawn’s composure totally crumpled. “God, I _hate_ that word,” she shrieked. “Complicated. Like that should be enough to make me go away quietly like a good little girl. You so need to drop that bloody word from your vocabulary, mister. I’ve heard it all my life, and it’s always meant ‘Don’t tell the idiot child – she’s too young to understand’. Well, I’m now nineteen years old, and I understand perfectly well that you and Giles have my sister stuck in a statue and didn’t think it was important enough to tell me. I don’t care if nobody else knows. She’s all the family I had… have left.”

“We didn’t want to hurt you.” Angel’s throat tightened around the words, hating to show solidarity with Giles so soon after wanting to rip his throat out. “We believed you’d already done your mourning by the time we’d found out Buffy was entombed in marble. It would have been wrong to get your hopes up, and then not find anything to help her. It’s been a year and we just got our first decent clue a few moments before you arrived.”

Dawn would not be mollified. “Who are you two to play God with me? How dare you decide what I should and shouldn’t think and how I should feel? Geeze Louise, no wonder Buffy turned to…”

“Hey, lady. See my Paddy bear?” Will held up Paddington until Dawn took notice; his eyes shining bright when she shook the bear’s paw and introduced herself.

Angel panicked. This girl knew Spike – spent years around him. At that moment he worried just how much of Spike actually showed in the boy’s features. He swallowed, wondering how long it would take for her to call him on it.

“My goodness. Is this William?” Dawn got down on her hands and knees, watching the child use a pink crayon to color in the sky. “Hello, cutie.”

William smiled, and Angel could see he’d won over another conquest. He wasn’t prepared for Dawn’s gasp.

“No!” she whispered. “No bloody way! Is there something else you’re trying to hide from me, Angel?”

“Uh, hiding?”

“Please, Dawn,” Nina tried to keep the excitable young woman grounded. “Angel would never do anything to hurt you. He’s told me all about how much your sister loved you.”

Angel knew Dawn wouldn’t be put off. In fact, it looked as if she hadn’t heard a word his wife had said. What was he going to tell her when she started in about Spike? Nineteen be damned, she was just a youngster, herself.

Dawn held out her arms. “Come to Auntie Dawn, little guy. Let me see you up close and personal.”

Angel stood up; ready to grab the boy into his own arms, but Nina shook her head, gesturing for him to sit back down.

Will and the bear clambered into Dawn’s embrace, fascinated with her long, silky hair. As he let it flow through his fingers, Dawn looked him over closely before shifting him to settle on her hip.

“What is with you guys?” she asked calmly, so as not to upset the child. “I thought for sure vamps only shot cold dead seed. First you and now Spike with the baby-making. How is that possible? Who’s the kid’s mother – Drusilla?”

Thanking whatever gods were willing to listen to a vampire’s prayers, Angel relaxed. She didn’t know. She thought… she thought Will was Spike’s son, and in a way he was – Spike, the next generation. It eased something inside of him to think of the change in that way. Not the irritating pest that had been his grandchilde, but merely family through blood.”

“It was a miracle,” he said, ignoring the vulgar sperm reference. “We really don’t know…”

“Wait a minute,” Dawn interrupted. “Will’s two, right?” She scratched her head, looking troubled. “That means he was born about the same time that Spike died. Did he even get to meet his baby? To see the miracle he created? Did Buffy know about this? Oh, God! It’s gonna kill her all over again if she finds out that Spike had a child with someone else.”

 _Lie after lie after lie._ If he wasn’t careful, this would all fall apart before it took hold. He couldn’t bring himself to name a mother. Not out of respect for Spike and Buffy’s so-called relationship, but if Buffy ever came back to them, and found out about the lie? She’d never forgive him.

“Spike never met his child, and…it wasn’t like that. I-I just can’t talk about it, Dawn. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s complicated, right?” Dawn rolled her eyes. “So you’re telling me Spike knocked up some bimbo by accident. And she turned the baby over to you after the father died?”

“No! No, it wasn’t like that. It’s… Nina.” He turned to his wife, silently pleading with her for help.

“Dawn, honey. Spike was a good guy. You know that. He sent the woman away to safety before the battle went down, just in case… well, just in case. He wanted them both safe. There was no relationship between the two of them, but it happened. Spike was lonely, and so sure your sister had moved on with her life. He didn’t want to hurt her.”

“Like with Anya,” Dawn murmured. “So, where is she? The mom?”

“She died in childbirth, hon,” Nina bravely soldiered on, not looking at her husband. “Angel managed to adopt the boy as the child’s uncle. So yes, it is complicated, but nothing you shouldn’t be told.”

“You named him after his father?”

Angel quickly nodded in agreement. The more it made sense to Dawn, the less she would question.

Dawn chucked the little boy under his chin. “You look so much like your daddy, Will. I bet if I gooped your hair back, you’d look just like Spike.”

“Me Spike,” the boy giggled happily, wrapping his arms around Dawn’s neck. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Make lots of spikes, like Daddy.”

“Now you have to tell me all about it, cutie.” Before Angel could stop her, Dawn had taken the boy out of the office and headed towards the garden.

All Angel could do was sigh in relief.

Nina slapped his shoulder, showing her disapproval at being forced to lie their way out of a situation that didn’t warrant such tactics.

They both jumped when a large ceramic disc slipped from its hanger and shattered on the floor.


	13. Sunday in the Zoo with William

**Several Months Later**

Charlotte couldn’t believe her good fortune. A wonderful Sunday spent traipsing about the Los Angeles Zoo with two of her favorite guys. Did it matter that the day was overcast? Rain threatening to fall at any moment? Not in the least. Her love for William and Hugh’s finally professed feelings provided her with a personal sunshine umbrella.

Watching the man she cared deeply for pushing a green plastic alligator stroller while juggling a giant tub of popcorn gave her a severe case of the warm fuzzies. Charlotte always knew she’d want a family some day… way in the future. Like after law school. After her first appointment. But… but… look at them! Hugh was actually showing Paddington the grizzly bears, much to Will’s delight. The _tick-tock-tick_ of her biological clock had become deafening.

“Lotte, come on!” Will called out as they started for the next exhibit.

She caught up with them at the elephant enclosure. Hugh hauled the boy out of the stroller and onto his shoulders so he could view the massive animals. Charlotte pulled a bag of peanuts from her backpack and tossed a handful at several elephants nearest to them.

Will giggled as they picked up the nuts with their trunks. “Me feed ‘phants too,” he begged, dangerously leaning away from Hugh’s shoulders.

Charlotte moved closer, allowing the boy to reach into the bag. In his enthusiasm, Will grabbed the whole bag, dumping it on Hugh’s head.

“I suppose I should be grateful he hadn’t asked for a drink,” he muttered, moving the boy from his shoulders back to the ground.

Unable to speak for fear of totally cracking up in the face of her boyfriend’s embarrassment, Charlotte wrapped her arms around his waist for a quick squeeze and kissed him, gently brushing several peanuts from his hair and clothing. A sharp pull on her trouser leg broke up the smooch-fest.

“Silly kissy-face. Want to see the seals,” Will admonished, pulling the couple apart. “Go now, kissy-face later.”

Will clapped and laughed with delight as the large walrus and his harem of seals barked for the zookeeper throwing fish into the pool for one of their daily feedings. They didn’t hold his attention long, and he started to walk away from the exhibit, slightly ahead of his caretakers.

“Oh no you don’t, my little chickadee.” Charlotte stepped forward quickly, knowing all too well how fast the boy could be when he wanted to. She grabbed his hand, slowing his flight. A loud spate of frenetic barking from the seals stopped the boy cold in his tracks, nearly causing Charlotte to topple over his small form.

“What’s the matter, Will? Did the seals scare you?”

He held onto her legs, first peering to the right and then to the left… searching for something.

Figuring the animals had spooked the child, they quickly headed after Hugh on the gravel path. Charlotte was determined not to let Will’s fears get the better of him. “How about we pay a visit to the lions, sweetie? Think old Paddy would be too scared to see an animal that roars really loud?”

“Like Simba?”

She could tell his curiosity had been piqued. They’d read all about Simba and the Lion King for weeks now. Charlotte nodded with a smile, picking up her pace as Will took off at a trot.

Hugh continued pushing the stroller, which now held the popcorn, Charlotte’s backpack, and two soda’s now stowed in the drink caddy near the handle. If he felt a little foolish, he kept it to himself.

Will climbed the two rung fence in front of the lions cage, flanked by Charlotte and Hugh.

“Don’t you let go of the fence, boy, or it’s back in the stroller for you,” Hugh warned. “Lions are fun to look at, but they are dangerous to little boys who get too close.” He mimed fangs and claws, garnering yet another giggle from Will.

It was obvious the child was no longer listening. His hands had an iron grip on the bars as he stared at the regal predators pacing perimeter of their enclosure. Charlotte was so focused on keeping an eagle eye on the boy that she failed to notice the caretakers enter the den through a back door.

Large chunks of raw, bloodied meat were tossed to the animals. A large male lion with a huge mane, obviously the head of the pride, threw his head back and roared, warning off the other beasts. He lowered his muzzle into the pile of bloodied meat and tore into it, sending gobbets of flesh and bone flying.

Charlotte thought about hiding Will’s eyes. This was a little too visceral for her tastes, and she worried the boy would be frightened.

Will, on the other hand, was fascinated. His eyes were wide open – slightly glassy – as he stared intently at the scene before him. Unconsciously mimicking the lion, Will’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips, as if tasting the animal’s meal, himself.

When he failed to respond to her voice, Charlotte pulled the boy off the fence, walking swiftly away from the area. For the briefest of moments, she was frightened. Not for him, but _of_ him.

Just how human was this child, she wondered for the first time. Did he still have his demon from his earlier ‘life’? Was this sense memory from his vampire days? Charlotte couldn’t repress the shiver that juddered through her body.

What had Will been like as a vampire? She knew Angel was one, and understood he was different in that he had his soul. There’d been the madwoman vampire from last year. Scary as hell, but she wasn’t around long enough to study, thank goodness. Would the boy have been a dangerous lunatic like that?

She wondered if he even remembered his adult life. God willing, he was blissfully unaware.

Will came back to himself, throwing back his head and roaring along with the lion – making claw hands as Hugh had done earlier. Nearly giving both adults simultaneous heart attacks. His full bellied laugh broke the tension.

“You make funny faces, Lotte,” he laughed, patting both her cheeks.

Hugh showed his concern for Will by looking deeply into his eyes.

Will complained. “Stoppit, You. No like fingers in eyes.”

“You… uh, Hugh was just worried you had an eyelash stuck, sweetie,” Charlotte murmured. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Me fine, Lotte.”

Once again, he squirmed in her arms, looking all around the area for some unknown something. Charlotte, however, had had enough. Once again she could feel Angel spying on them from under the trees. She hoped to God that Hugh wouldn’t notice him there. Bless them all, the poor boy probably wouldn’t notice the vampire if he came up to them wearing a giant purple fedora.

“Why don’t you take Will to the monkey house, hon?” A little distraction was a good thing as Charlotte wanted to head off the inevitable confrontation she felt building. “I need to make a pit stop before we get too far away from the rest rooms.” She fully intended to confront the child’s father before things got even more out of hand.

Hugh nodded. “How about you, tiger? Need to go to the loo?”

Will shook his head. “All dry, You.”

“Good lad. Now, hop on your alligator and we two men will get some fairy floss before we see the monkeys, yes?” At the boy’s consent, Hugh cleared out the stroller seat and they headed off towards the concession stand near the exhibit.

As soon as her two guys were out of sight, Charlotte strode over to the tree-lined concourse on the other side of the lions cage.

“Just who do you think you’re fooling, Angel? Covered up like my old Aunt Matilda at a beach outing? You told me you were fine with me taking Will to the zoo!”

Angel’s body language screamed _snagged_ , as he slumped against one of the trees. His large, droopy hat slouched forward, hiding even more of his face. “I was… I am,” he murmured, obviously embarrassed at being caught out.

“Really?” Sarcasm dripping from her lips, Charlotte tapped her foot, silently demanding an explanation for his stalkerish behavior.

“You didn’t tell me _he_ would be going with you,” Angel whined, toeing the ground with his foot like a little boy.

“I didn’t think it would be necessary to tell you that I would take the man I love to the zoo with me on my day off!”

“But…” Angel shrugged his shoulders. There really wasn’t anything else he could say.

Charlotte glared at him. “You know he’s a good man, Angel. I thought you were more comfortable around him since Will’s party. And I know you promised Nina you’d give Hugh a break. Do I have to tell her you were lying through your fangs?”

“I wasn’t lying… exactly,” Angel reluctantly admitted as he sat down on one of the stone benches underneath the shady tree, pulling his coat closer around him.

Watching her boss… her friend… squirm about, uncomfortable in being out during the day even though there was no threat of sunshine breaking through, Charlotte almost felt sorry for him. He loved his son, and worried about him out in the big world, but there was such a thing as being over protective, and she wasn’t going to let this continue.

“What did Hugh ever do to you, Angel? I was there when he first showed up. He’d never seen you before, yet you treated him like the worst evil known to man. He’s never harmed you since. Never harmed Will. In fact, he’s been working tirelessly without any encouragement from you to find a solution to the woman in the statue. Again, what did he ever do to you?

Angel had the good grace to look guilty as he hung his head.

“He’s not even a watcher, or whatever it is you’re always muttering about.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel murmured. “I didn’t want him here. He was forced on me by Giles. And then he shows up looking all tweedy, and with those… with those damned glasses.”

“You hate him because he looked like a nerd?” She couldn’t believe what she heard. Hugh had been judged and condemned on his looks alone?

“He looked like someone I knew. Someone who… who’s no longer here.”

 _Well, get over it!_ she almost shouted at him, but managed to hold her tongue at the very last moment.

“Do you know anything about the kind of person Hugh is? That he cries over Disney movies? That he’ll willingly play pack-mule for me when we go out to a mall? That he doesn’t look at Will as a pain in the ass foisted on his girlfriend in her off hours, but as a delightful child to spend some time with?”

Angel’s silence infuriated Charlotte, and she continued with her rant. “Do you know that he spends time playing with Will when I get busy with clients or homework? Who do you think watches Shrek for the thousandth time with him just because he asked?”

Charlotte stopped herself when she noticed people stopping and staring at the two of them. “Go home, Angel. Will is having a marvelous time. He’s safe and well cared for… and probably missing me by now. And please, for all our sakes, get over this thing with Hugh. He’s not your enemy… or your friend – whomever it is you’re comparing him to.”

She walked off in the direction of the monkey house without another word.


	14. A Bedtime Story

Paddington didn’t want to go to sleep, and neither did William. Even though Mommy and Daddy went out for some grownup time, they wouldn’t be too happy to find him out of bed. Lotte and Uncle Hugh were in their room watching movies. They wouldn’t play with him now. All he’d get was a glass of warm milk and be sent back to bed.

Will sighed and climbed onto the padded window cushion, looking out over the garden. “Play with me, Buffy?” He pushed gently with his mind, hoping to find her welcoming smile. “No fair, sleepy lady. I wanna play.” He pouted, cuddling his longtime stuffed pal. “Everybody’s busy, Paddy, an’ I’m not tired.”

“I’ll play with you, my sweet William.”

He knew it wasn’t Buffy’s voice calling to him, but he’d heard it before. He knew he had. Looking out the window again he saw a lady in a red dress, holding out her arms to him.

“Come to me,” she called, twirling around and around. “We’ll dance and make merry and Daddy will never know.”

That was all it took. Will scrambled down from the window seat and shucked off his pajamas. Dressing quickly in clean Paddington underoos and socks, blue jeans, and a dark green t-shirt, his Velcro-topped sneakers slid on for a finishing touch.

“Shhh, Paddy,” he whispered. “No noise and we can go play outside.”

He snuck past the grownup’s bedroom, holding tightly to Paddington. Together, he and Paddy would be very brave. After all, he was a big boy - four years old now. Gampa Giles told him that Paddy came all the way from Peru by himself on a boat. _They_ were only going downstairs to the garden.

Will held on to the banister with one hand. He didn’t want to fall down the stairs like a little boy. First one step, then another. Slowly he and Paddington made their way down the long staircase. He wanted to say hello to Monster before they went outside, and Monster was in Daddy’s office.

Uncle Connor liked to make Monster growl and chase Will all around the room. It was one of his favorite games when he wasn’t busy making kissy-faces with Aunty Dawn. Silly Uncle. Girls weren’t for kissing. Will would never kiss Alonna. Mommy and Lotte, but they didn’t count. And maybe Aunty Dawn. She did smell nice. Almost as nice as Buffy.

“Hello, Will. What are you doing all dressed up at this hour of the night?”

The boy stumbled, dropping Paddington in order to grab onto the banister with both hands. “You scared me, Uncle Hugh.”

“Isn’t it your bedtime, lad?” He knelt down beside Will, blocking the stairs.

“Um, no?” Will pouted and reached for Paddington. He had to make sure he wasn’t hurt after his tumble.

“Not tired, then?” Hugh chuckled at the boy’s yawn. “Would you like me to read you a story, perhaps?”

Will nodded. He loved it when Uncle Hugh read to him. He’d make all kinds of funny faces to go along with the different voices.

“Would you like me to get a glass of milk and some cookies to go along with that story?”

The boy craned his neck as Hugh stood up, towering over him on the higher stair. “Yes, please, Uncle Hugh.”

“Wonderful. Why don’t you get into your pyjamas, find your book and wait for me in bed? Good deal?”

Will nodded, and climbed back up the stairs to his room. Halfway through undressing, he ran to the window. He’d forgotten all about playing with the lady in the red dress. He looked all around the garden, but couldn’t see her anymore. Shrugging his shoulders, Will put his clothes in the hamper, donned his pajamas and pulled his favorite book into bed with him and Paddy.

After a couple of Mommy’s famous butter cookies and a glass of milk, Uncle Hugh fluffed up a pillow and took his place next to Will against the headboard. He took the book from the boy’s lap and began:

“Paddington arrived from darkest Peru after stowing away in a ship’s lifeboat. He had been sent out into the world by his Aunt Lucy, who had gone to live in The Home for Retired Bears in Lima. He was found with a label around his neck which said ‘Please look after this bear. Thank you’”

William never noticed when Hugh drew up the covers and turned off the light.


	15. All Gods' Children

“Oh, yuck!” Dawn complained, trying to scrape the hardening yellow and purple ooze from her hair and clothing. “You could have at least warned me and Connor about these guys exploding on contact, Angel. Like, before sending us in with blades.” She stared defiantly at the immaculate Armani-suited vampire, as if this was somehow all his fault.

Self-restraint severely tested at the sight of the messy pair, Angel allowed himself a small, enigmatic smile. “I did,” he insisted. “I spent at least five minutes telling you about their splatter patterns and exactly how far away to stand to avoid ending up covered in… that.”

“When?”

“Obviously when you were too busy sucking face with my son.”

Connor chortled to himself as he wiped down his weapon, seemingly unconcerned with his own appearance.

“Oh, yeah.” She giggled, tailing off into a deep sigh, gazing dreamily at the object of her affection, who’d moved on to ineffectually trying to wipe the slime off of his body. Which reminded her… “Any chance I can stick you with the dry cleaning bill?”

Batting her eyes in his direction, Angel could have taken her for a taller copy of her sister, post patrol. Same complaints. Same hands on hips pose. Same pout waiting to break out on her lips when he turned her request down. Another small smile graced his face.

“Is that a yes?” she asked, hope coloring her voice as he walked away from her. “A no? Angel? Angel!”

He ignored Dawn’s piteous calls and tried to keep from laughing at her behavior. Connor caught his eye and smiled back at him, making his day.

“Damn it!” Dawn swore. “I’m gonna find me a job that’ll cover me in dollar bills. I’ve had enough of this crap.”

“Oh, come on now, baby. You’d leave A.I. and all the perks?” Connor grinned, letting the gelatinous ooze fall where it may.

“Perks? You see perks to this job?” Dawn was incredulous. “Outside of dealing with dozens of different colored slime in a month?”

At his answering smile, Dawn turned coy as she sashayed over to the young man. “I can think of something that _might_ help me change my mind,” she murmured. “Maybe you wanna give me a hand with the cleanup?”

“But Miss Summers!” he gasped, clutching his shirt to his chest. “We aren’t even betrothed. Frankly, I’m shocked at your suggestion.”

Dawn simply cocked a well-groomed eyebrow.

“Ah, but I know a solution to our dilemma. Let us marry and make an honest man of me at last.”

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t start this all over again, Connor.” She tried to laugh it off.

“Marry me, Dawn,” he repeated, all serious in tone this time. “Marry me and make me the happiest man alive.”

“How about I just let you wash my naked body and make you the happiest man alive this evening?”

Angel fake retched, shaking his head at their antics. “Geeze, you two. I think I’ll need to be tested for diabetes if this goes on any longer.” This had been going on for months – Connor asking Dawn for her hand in marriage and Dawn refusing, making a joke of the whole thing. Both men knew that she was going to say no, but it didn’t stop Connor from asking.

With a smirk, he replied: “Well, if I must. It’s a dirty job but somebody’s got to do it.” Obviously Connor knew a good thing when it was on offer.

“Are you calling me dirty, Mister?”

“As filthy as the day is long, baby.”

“Oh, you!”

“Connor!” Angel shouted, tossing a double bladed knife his way. “Head’s up!”

In one swift motion, Connor caught the blade and brought it down towards the small figure now struggling under the grip of his other hand.

Dawn jumped on his back, grabbing his knife arm and throwing his aim off, resulting in the blade embedding itself in the floor.

“Why the hell did you stop me, Dawn?” Connor shook from the adrenalin still running through his system.

“Because it’s Rumpari, not Thpazial.” Hugh stumbled into the cavern from the sewer, looking none the better for having tossed his cookies after stumbling over a handful of human corpses. “Rumpari don’t eat people, as a rule. Just for ceremonial occasions – such as the wedding you just decimated.”

“And that’s okay by you?” Connor fumed, motioning around at the bodies lying at their feet. “Just because human flesh isn’t an everyday staple in their diets, you’re fine with letting this one go?”

“The Rumpari you’re choking is a baby. It doesn’t eat meat, human or otherwise… until it’s full grown, and you’re hurting it.”

“I’m so sorry, Mister I hurked up my lunch at the first sight of blood. I suppose you didn’t see the human children its elders ripped apart to feed to their guests. Little bodies with their bellies slit open and forks…”

“Connor! That’s enough.” Dawn stood in front of Hugh, who’d turned to dry heave after Connor’s diatribe. “Hugh didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t need you to defend me, Dawn,” Hugh gasped, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “The perpetrators of such atrocity were Thpazial. They view humans as animals possessing no sentient thought and are better disposed of. And whilst it’s not comforting to the poor blighter they’d have chosen, the Rumpari would have made do with a single human for their entire group.”

“So they’d only murder one human.” Connor was incredulous. “They would only have killed him, carved him into little pieces and eaten him, Chalmers. Don’t go telling me that makes it better, just because they only do it for ‘ceremonial occasions’.”

“When you can tell me that the steak you ate the other night won’t be missed by its family,” the beleaguered man shot back. “I’ll take your side without argument.”

Connor opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again, obviously giving up the fight. He lifted his hands in defeat, freeing the Rumpari child.

It was terrified. Too scared to run away, it curled up into a ball, emitting a series of squeaks and whistles.

Dawn got down on her hands and knees and approached the little demon with caution, despite Connor’s attempt to hold her back.

“Oh, Angel… it’s crying. Maybe the poor thing is really hurt.”

Hugh pulled a small, silver whistle from his pocket and trilled a series of notes. The Rumpari stopped shaking and whistled a response. After a few more exchanges, the youngster stood up and ran to Hugh, hugging him tightly around the knees.

“It’s okay now. He’ll be fine.” Hugh ran his fingers through the boy’s black curls in a calming manner. He continued to speak in a low tone, even though it probably sounded like nonsense to the little demon.

“H-how did you know – how did you do that?” Dawn stammered, watching Hugh take charge of a situation for the first time. “What did you say to him?”

“I just told him I’d keep him safe.” Hugh ducked his head, unable to make eye-contact for some reason.

Angel looked at the man with a new, oh-so-familiar understanding. He’d been through this before. Yes, with Wesley. Wes’d been so afraid of making waves to stay in his good graces that he hadn’t bothered to tell him of his linguistic skills until Cordelia was in danger.

“Do you always carry that whistle around with you, or were you expecting to run into Rumpari demons this evening?”

“No, of course not. But Rumpari aren’t the only demons with non-verbal speech patterns. This whistle is a help when the demons are calm enough to speak first and think about murder afterwards.”

The Englishman sounded calmer, more self-assured now that he was on familiar ground.

“It would have worked on the Thpazial, as well,” he said. _If I hadn’t embarrassed myself by yacking up my guts and putting myself out of commission_ went unsaid. “That’s why they didn’t listen to you when you attempted to break up the ritual slaughter. They don’t recognize human speech as language. To them, we’re nothing but foodstock, no more sentient than cows are to us.”

“Just how many languages do you speak fluently?” Angel wondered aloud. Was it possible the man had been hiding his true light under a bushel basket all this time?

“I speak and read Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Spanish, Sumerian and a smattering of Russian dialects.” Hugh took a calming breath before continuing. “I am also fluent in Thpazial, Rumpari, Grox’lar, and Fyarl.”

Dawn patted him on the back. “I’m impressed. You’ve hidden the real you from everyone, haven’t you?”

“Back when I failed my first field test for the Watchers Academy, I… I spent months in their research libraries. I could hardly face my parents in my shame, nor my colleagues. I took an intensive course in demon linguistics in an attempt to ‘suck up’ as you say here. To try and make a name for myself that wasn’t tainted with disgrace. I spent so much time listening, reading and searching through the files that my mum had me banned from research for an enforced two week rest.

With a twinkle in her eye, Dawn crooked her elbow, holding it out for Hugh to take. “C’mon, C3PO. Let’s get out of here.”

“And what are we gonna do about the Rumpari brat, Dad?” Connor’s acid tones cut through the air. He wasn’t at all happy being responsible for the little beast after murdering its kin.

“We’ll have to take him home with us. When his family comes looking for him, maybe Hugh can negotiate a truce with the clan.”

“It won’t be far reaching,” Hugh offered. “But perhaps I can get this clan to forgo the eating of human flesh for something else. As a show of good faith so Angel won’t slaughter the rest of the Rumpari.

“You’re taking him back home?” Connor spat furiously. “To live in the same house as Dawn, Nina and my little brother? Are you certifiable?” He poked his father in the chest to further his point. “What if his people launch an attack on the hotel and decide to kill first, whistle questions later?”

“But they won’t,” Hugh insisted. “They would no more risk on of their children than we would. These demons are reasonable in their own right. They’re a clannish, peaceful people with an unfortunate predilection for an occasional meal of human flesh. Unfortunate for us humans,” he amended.

“I still say Nina’s gonna flip about putting her child in danger, not to mention Charlotte’s. How can you put your pregnant wife in danger like this, Hugh? I’d never do it to Dawn.”

Dawn snorted. “Like you’d have the choice, buster. This is the twenty-first century, you know. We women, pregnant or not, can not only decide things for ourselves, but on the whole we can defend ourselves, too.”

Angel blocked out their bickering. He motioned for Hugh to make the call to Anne and Gunn as he released the shackles holding the kidnapped humans. There was nothing he could say to ease their distress. He simply requested them to sit and wait.

Hugh spoke easily enough about humans eating meat; taking the life of animals with feelings, no matter how base. It was easy to look at things from the other side, when it wasn’t your face looking back at you. When you didn’t focus on the fact that you and your clan spent decade after decade tearing through human weddings and leaving naught but death and destruction in your wake. Children crying for their dead parents. Parents begging for the lives of their children, only to watch as you ripped their necks apart.

He might not be able to bring back a single life stolen by his fangs, nor those who were murdered this evening, but he wasn’t going to abandon the little Rumpari to its fate. There were worse things than vampires and humans that roamed the sewers. Nina would have to understand, and they’d take the appropriate precautions to protect everyone involved.

A loud _thunk, thunk_ on the manhole cover, signaled the arrival of the relief team. Dawn, Connor and Angel herded the survivors up the ladder, carrying those who couldn’t make it on their own. Hugh stayed hidden below, with the Rumpari still clinging to his legs.

Anne and her volunteers waited above with warm blankets, triage kits and plenty of hot coffee and hot chocolate for the children. Gunn explained to a passing police officer that these people had been caught in the crossfire of a gang war, and were being taken to the shelter until family members could be sent for.

When the last of the shelter workers had left the scene, Angel retreated to the sewers to retrieve his people. For safety’s sake, they completed the trip back to the Hyperion through the sewers. From afar, the Rumpari could be mistaken for human. Up close, the patterned skin, sharp retractable fingernails and deep red eyes were dead giveaways that the child was demonic.

***

The trip home through the sewers gave Angel pause for reflection. Another day, another battle fought. Nobody on their team lost, minimal casualties amongst the hostages. While ten people had lost their lives, they’d rescued forty five. Angel’s had worse results. He hadn’t wanted to take Hugh out on patrol at all, but he’d proven himself more than useful once he got himself under control.

Ever since the… well, ever since…Angel wanted nothing more than to take on cases by himself. Connor, of course, insisted that his place was at his father’s side. He knew the innate need to fight. The physical release from a good work out.

As for Dawn. Well, from the first week when she followed him after he’d insisted she stay at home, it’d been a losing battle. She was Spike and Buffy trained for battle, she insisted. Not to mention the past year she’d spent working out with the baby Slayers. Angel had to admit her style showed a melding of elements from both his previous partners. It sometimes took his proverbial breath away and he had to stand back and watch

Nina and Charlotte were waiting for them at the sewer entrance to the hotel. A few toots on the whistle from Hugh, and the Rumpari allowed himself to be fawned over by the women. As they led him towards the little nest of towel and pillows they’d made in the bathtub, he kept turning his head to keep his translator in sight.

He was too big to fit into a pair of Will’s pajamas. One of Nina’s oversized t-shirts served as a suitable nightshirt, and the little one settled into the nest, quietly trilling when Nina tucked a large down comforter around his body.

“Is it safe to leave him alone like this? So close to Will?” Dawn was obviously having second thoughts about endangering her ‘nephew’.

Hugh nodded. “I believe he’s been traumatized enough to fall into a deep sleep. Most children escape their fears and worries that way.”

“Personal experience, honey?” Charlotte hugged her husband to her rounded belly. “I promise to keep you safe tonight. It’ll be just you, me and Junior.”

Connor growled as they walked down the stairs, muttering under his breath about the mutilated bodies they’d left behind, and the stupidity of trusting demon spawn.

***

Will awoke to the sound of a low whistle. It sounded like a teakettle before the water was ready. He got out of bed to see where it was coming from, making sure to grab Paddy. Adventures were no fun alone, after all.

He stopped before the bathroom between Auntie Dawn’s room and the linen closet. He opened the door carefully. Maybe Mommy had finally agreed to get him that puppy he’d been asking for. He was disappointed when nothing greeted him on the other side of the door, until he looked into the bathtub.

A kid was rocking back and forth, making such sad sounds.

“Are you okay?” he asked, startled when the boy’s bright red eyes focused on him. “Why are you crying? Did you have an accident in your bed? Is that why you’re in the tub?”

When the kid didn’t answer, Will made to leave. He figured it might be a good idea to get his Mommy. She would stop the boy from crying. As he got to the door, the crying sounds got louder. What could he do if the kid wouldn’t talk to him?

Will held out his hand, tugging on the kid’s arm and led him into his bedroom. He rummaged through his toy chest for a red teddy bear that Charlotte had won for him at a carnival, and offered it to the kid.

“See? I take my Paddy bear with me, and he makes me feel safe. You can have Red bear.”

He walked the boy back to the bathroom, and watched as he hunkered back down in the tub. This time, he hugged the red bear to his chest, and went to sleep with no further crying.

***

“Angel!” Nina yelled down the stairs in a panic. She’d opened the bathroom door to check on the little demon. After spending the past four years mothering Will, she couldn’t help herself.

“What’s wrong?” Angel was by her side in no time flat.

Nina pointed at the empty bathtub. “He’s gone. Oh, God… what if he’s…” and stared down the hallway at their son’s closed door.

With all the stealth at his disposal, Angel opened Will’s door, mollified by the sound of his son’s steady breathing. He motioned for his wife to join him as he stood aside, making room for her to enter.

The two boys were lying back-to-back on Will’s bed, each clutching a stuffed bear.

They backed out slowly, closing the door behind them.

Only Angel heard his son’s quietly whispered “Night, Daddy.”


	16. Playtime at the Hyperion

Buffy jogged quickly down the hallway, giggling as she passed first one child or the other. Will adored a good game of tag even if he couldn’t get the satisfaction of smacking her out. The little demon boy had finally been convinced to chase after Will even if he was unable to see her at all.

She might have been a bastion of good in the ‘olden days’ but she wasn’t above taking advantage of her latest power and poking the boys’ shoulders as she flitted by.

“You got me, Buffy,” Will squealed as he twisted his upper body in an attempt to avoid her tag. The Rumpari didn’t fare as well. He froze each time she tapped his shoulder before taking off again.

“Time to take this show on the road, buckaroos. Follow me, Will, and your friend will follow you.” Buffy headed down the main staircase, waiting patiently for the children, then headed into the kitchen and the basement stairs.

She watched Angel and his little family as they passed by. They still couldn’t see or hear her and it annoyed the hell out of her. One of these days she’d develop enough concentration to pull out the heavy books and do her own damned research. If she didn’t have an important stake in the outcome, nobody did.

Nina called out as the boys ran towards the kitchen. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Will?”

“We’re playing tag with Buffy, Moms.”

Her eyebrow arched at the unusual moniker; she’d always been ‘Mommy’. Buffy’s name however, didn’t ruffle a feather. “Just make sure you two don’t get into any trouble,” she admonished. “Don’t touch anything in boxes, and make sure you hold onto the banister if you go up or down stairs.”

Will agreed. “We’ll be good,” he yelled, taking off with a trot and pulling his friend behind him.

Buffy met them in the kitchen at the top if the staircase. “I promise I won’t run again until you and little devil eyes gets down to the bottom.”

So much space to run in, she noted. Four years later and Buffy still couldn’t believe her good fortune at not being stuck inside that statue all the time. It almost felt like a hunt, albeit a rather lame hunt what with her being insubstantial and the little hunters being only young children. And yet, after so long, it felt good.

Will nodded, holding onto the handrail and stepping carefully. He stopped every couple of steps to see if his friend would follow after him.

The Rumpari whistled once; the high tone at the end indicating a question.

Walking back up to the top of the stairs, Will took hold of his friend’s sharp-nailed hand and they took the stairs together, one at a time.

“Is everything okay, William? We could stay upstairs if this is too much trouble,” she offered to make things easier on the youngsters. She shouldn’t have worried, though. Soon enough they were sure-footed and determined, and were soon ready for her to lead them on a merry chase again.

She played games – walking through walls every now and then – popping out to say boo and causing Will to shriek with delight. The Rumpari didn’t laugh so much as warble. It was melodic and pleasing, and Buffy reveled in the sound. It was almost easy to forget he wasn’t human, if you didn’t note the patterned scales and the pretty red eyes. As far as she was concerned these days, there couldn’t be enough laughter in the world – on either side of the fence.

Running at full tilt down a long, empty hall, Buffy made a sharp turn into what looked like a storage room… and ran smack into Wesley. The resulting collision shocked them both.

Buffy was up on her feet first, reaching down to help an incredulous Wesley up from the floor. “Wes?” she murmured, touching his face in awe. “What is this? Are you unghostified? Am I free?”

Patting down her body, she was immensely glad that she’d figured out how to manifest fully dressed. The naked thing turned out to be rather inconvenient when a child could see you. Not to mention her ex-Watcher. Showing off her goodies was so not on her list of things to do.

“I – I don’t know. It’s just so odd to be feeling anything after all this time.” Pointing to a large stone sarcophagus leaning against the wall, he whispered: “I do believe it has something to do with this.”

The pitter-patter of thundering kiddy feet broke into their reverie.

“Tag, Buffy,” Will shouted, poking at her backside with his fingers. “Oh!” The look of shock on the boy’s face was priceless as he realized he’d made contact with her solid tush.

The Rumpari started to trill excitedly, and reached out to touch her. He shook his head up and down, acknowledging that Will had been seeing her all along.

Buffy knelt down on the floor, gathering first the demon youngster in an embrace, and then scooped Will up into her arms, amazed that her body parts didn’t pass right through the children.

“Oh, Spike,” she murmured, nuzzling into the little boy’s neck, somewhat surprised and saddened at the lack of leather and smoke she half expected to scent, so attached in her mind to the vampire he used to be. “My sweet Will.”

Wesley, however was in no mood for this reunion. “I really think you need to send the children to safety, Buffy. We need to talk. Now. And alone, if you don’t mind.”

“About what?” She wasn’t willing to let go of the boy. Holding him in her arms felt so right.

“Pretty gold-hair Buffy.” Will smiled, running his hands through the silk of her long hair. “I tagged you good!”

“Yes you did, cutie pie… but as much as I don’t want to let you go, I think you and your friend need to go back upstairs. Go find Mommy and Daddy. Wes and I will come find you as soon as we can, ‘kay?”

Will nodded without argument, letting Buffy herd them both towards the stairs. He hugged her tightly before she swatted him on the butt and watched them climb upwards. “Hurry back, Buffy,” he called before closing the door to the basement behind him.

With a sigh, Buffy retraced her steps to the storage room and Wesley, who laid against the sarcophagus, his ear pressed to the surface as if listening for something.

“So, ex-Watcherman-ghostie… what’s the sitch with the stone box here?”

Paying her no mind, Wes hummed quietly into the stone, giving Buffy pause. _Could he be nuts?_

“Wes, you’re scaring me. What’s going on with that stone thing? Is it another Acathla? ‘Cause I’ve been there, done that and I’m really out of practice sending people I care about to hell with sharp, pointy things.”

“She’s lost, you know,” Wes whispered. “ _All_ of her is gone.”

“Who’s lost?” Buffy’s expression softened, resting her arm around his waist. She’d never take the comfort of physical touch for granted again. “Do you know whose coffin this is?”

 _“She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face,”_ he began to speak. _“It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.”_

Buffy stood still, staring at him as he recited the words with obviously restrained emotion. She recognized the beginning of _The Little Princess_ right away. Most people would be surprised to know how much she’d enjoyed reading as a young girl… before the mantle of Slayerhood swallowed her life.

“Please, Wes. Talk to me,” she begged. “Was she a little girl? How did she die? Who was she to you? Was she your daughter?” There was so much about the man she didn’t know.

“She was the most beautiful being in the world, both inside and out,” he whispered as he stood up and backed away from the cold stone coffin. “Her kindness noted by anyone she had dealings with… even your vampires.” His voice turned cold, and emotionless. “And then she was gone.”

Not always the sharpest crayon in the box, Buffy had a flash of intuition. “Oh! Was this the woman Angel called Giles about helping?”

“And was turned down flat over.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t find out about this until way later, from Davide… um, the Immortal.” Buffy hung her head in shame. “We didn’t find out until it was too late that he’d been hiding information from us all… enthralling top members of the Council to further his personal agendas.”

Davide had told her not to get sucked into Angel’s games. Not to listen to his lies. Right now, she wondered why she ever listened to him in the first place.

Wes laughed aloud… a bitter, ugly sound that sent shivers down her spine.

“No longer matters, does it? She’s lost to us now. Lost to the Old One most child-like.”

Buffy worried for the man… for the ghost. She might be able to touch him now, yet he’d never felt as empty or hollow as he did right now. Like a shell.

“What are you talking about? Look, Wes,” she tried to reason. “I don’t mean to be an insensitive bitch here, but I don’t know how long we’re gonna be solid, or visible. Maybe we should go upstairs and talk to Angel about…”

“Can you feel it, Buffy?” Wes murmured. “It radiates from the stone in waves – the power is still inside.”

“What power?” she asked, even as she began to sense… something. An aversion. A fear. As if she were faced with the very thing she’d been created to go up against. 

She ran her hand over the lid, pausing over one of the embedded stones. Before she could touch it, however, Wesley grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the sarcophagus.

“Don’t touch it,” he yelled, panic edging his voice. “I-I don’t know what it’ll do this time.”

 _Huh?_ This time? What did it do last time?”

“This was the not-so-final resting place of Illyria, the God-King,” he choked out, voice as rough as cut glass. “It infected Winnifred Burkle – Fred, killing her from the inside by hollowing her out and taking over her body.”

He laughed again – a wet, sickly sound. As if it was his pain’s way of escaping.

“And then it walked around, wearing her face, using her voice… her hands. A mockery of all that I loved, and I couldn’t do anything but follow her to hell. Because it was her. And it wasn’t.”

 _Angelus!_ flashed through Buffy’s mind and she caught his stare. In that one brief moment, she and Wesley bonded irrevocably. Though Buffy’d gotten lucky and had her once forever love returned intact, she remembered what it was like seeing that bastard run around town wearing her beloved’s face.

“I’m sorry, Wes. I know words don’t… they aren’t… I guess we put our faith in the wrong people,” she finished lamely.

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Wes’ quiet rage felt like a smack across her face. Calm and disturbing as hell. “She was the best of us. The best…”

They stood together, silently, until the lack of sound grew too heavy to bear.

“Again with the being insensitive… but if you died fighting the good fight, which I assume that LA mess was with the evil empire, then why are you still here? How come you haven’t you moved on?”

Tears slid down Buffy’s cheeks as she watched her companion shudder with the weight of his grief. There was nothing she could offer this man. Nothing that would ever make it better for him. Just empty words, but it was all she had.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Wesley. I mean it from the bottom of my heart. It sounds like the world lost a good woman.”

“I don’t know why I’m still here, Miss Summers,” Wes allowed, reverting to his stiff and proper patterns hearkening back to their first meeting.

“Cut the ‘Miss Summer’ shit, Mr. I used to be so important I had two last names. We’ve come too far for that. As for why we’re both here… why we can see and talk to each other? I’m just grateful for the company. You saved me from going mad.”

“I know,” he said, dismissively.

“No, you _don’t_ know. Not if you think that I’ll let you just leave me before we’ve talked this all out. I’m sorry. I don’t want to have to hurt you. I just need to know why a good man such as you didn’t move on to heaven. I mean, I’ve been there, and…”

“Not good enough,” he mumbled, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ve done some horrible things in my past and apparently been judged not worthy of being granted that final rest.”

Buffy’s laugh was sharp and loud. “You’ve got to be better than me, bucko. I boinked the soul out of a vampire, and still managed to make it into heaven. What could you have possibly done that’s so bad?” At his silence, Buffy pushed harder. “Tell me,” she insisted, knowing by now what a driving factor guilt could be. Dealing with Spike taught her that – on both sides of the equation.

“Oh, Miss… um, Buffy. The things I did. I meant well, truly I did. I loved… felt things… for Angel. He was my friend. My father. My mentor. I would have done anything to keep him from pain. Bloody prophesies,” he growled, banging his fist against the wall.

“Tell. Me.”

“I-I stole his son. Kidnapped Connor from right under his nose and lied to everyone in order to pull it off.”

“Why, Wes? You must have had a very convincing reason to steal his baby.”

“There was this prophesy…”

Buffy snorted her displeasure. “When _isn’t_ there a prophesy? And we all know how well they turn out. Sorry,” she demurred.

“No, you’re quite right. And I was a bit more arrogant in those days; more trusting of ancient scrolls.” His hands fluttered with agitation, unable to stay still as he recalled the most horrid period of his life. “It was falsified… _The father will kill the son._ A total manipulation by a time hopping demon with a personal grudge against Angel. I was willing to risk Angel’s wrath and hatred to keep him from the agony of killing his child.”

“You tried to do the right thing, Wes. The Watcher way.” She remembered Giles – the way he’d gone behind her back trying to kill Spike – also for her own good.

Wes shook his head. “No, sweet girl. I tried to be his friend. He repaid me by trying to strangle me in my hospital bed. As thanks for trying to save the child and his father, I had my throat slit and nearly bled out in the park.”

“Ouch!”

“Indeed.”

“Verbose, aren’t we?”

“Quite.”

Buffy laughed, trying to shake off the dread she felt. “How about we head up to see Angel? You may be dead, and God only knows what I am, but I’m not gonna let that stop either of us.”

Halfway up the stair she felt faint. Her body twisted as she stumbled up the stairs. “Oh, damn,” she muttered as her hand sank into the handrail. Whatever clemency she’d – they’d – been granted had been repealed.


	17. Family Matters

Andrew Nathaniel Chalmers the tenth paid an unannounced visit to his younger brother and his expectant wife. He bore gifts from the family for Hugh and Charlotte’s little one. From their parents? A hand-sewn antique satin and lace christening gown; worn by countless generations of Chalmers infants. Lydia sent an entire layette set in pale shades of yellow and green. And Nate, as his brother called him, had set up a trust fund and invitation to the Watcher’s Council when the child came of age.

Angel and Nina sat politely alongside the expectant parents. Angel tried hard not to let his brood ruin the mood. Every now and again his wife would not-so-gently shove her elbow into his ribs to refocus his attentions. The rest of the time she held his hand whilst Charlotte ooh’d and aah’d over the pretty outfits and luxurious bedding her brother-in-law had brought.

He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was that caused his foul mood. Nathaniel Chalmers hadn’t uttered a single discourteous word since he’d arrived. To be entirely truthful, he’d not said a direct word to Angel since entering the Hyperion. A bow of his head sufficed as a greeting. He had taken the vampire’s proffered hand, unlike another member of a different Council family. However, his grasp had been fleeting and the subtle use of his handkerchief afterwards made Angel feel like a slobbering dog.

When the conversation strayed from Charlotte’s health, or itty-bitty baby clothes, it became somewhat stilted. Nathaniel kept making veiled references to Council business; how Hugh was food for gossip working for _that_ vampire on a hush-hush project for Rupert Giles. There were concerns brewing about the lack of information over the past four years and some talk about sending in additional help.

Angel knew he was only moments away from dropping his human mask. The last thing he wanted were Council snoops interfering in his family life. Hugh might have panned out well despite all his skepticism, but it wouldn’t happen like that a second time. 

Like a good watch dog, Nina responded with a sharp elbow to an already tender rib, and he backed down.

As much as he’d come to care for Hugh as part of his expanded family, Angel didn’t like him enough to put up with his brother for much longer. Mr. Chalmers the tenth was a dyed in tweed blowhard.

If nothing else, the afternoon had been a revelation. Hugh was a party boy compared to his older sibling. And Angel was extremely grateful that Natty-boy the Watcher didn’t have a clue as to his family’s true background. He shuddered to think what the man would do with that kind of information.

Suddenly Hugh felt like a favored younger brother. There was no façade to the man – he knew that, now. Nathanial, on the other hand – all surface. As smug and two dimensional as Hamilton at first… and second glance.

Angel heard the sound of kid-feet on the stairs before anyone else and turned to see the two boys coming out of the kitchen. Something elusive ticked at the back of his mind. He took a quick mental inventory of the basement’s contents, but couldn’t think of anything dangerous they might have gotten their hands into.

The boys ignored the adults, opting instead to head straight for the television. Sure enough, it was time for Will’s favorite show; the current remake of Dark Shadows.

He couldn’t help but snarl as the show’s theme music drifted over their conversation. Of all things, why was the boy drawn to a blasted vampire soap opera?

Nina reached up to kiss her husband’s cheek. “Let them be, Angel. It’s only a television show. If Will has any questions about the nature of vampires, he can always ask us.”

“I know,” he mumbled. “It just that we can’t have the boy thinking all vampires are fluffy romantic fools.”

“Oh my! Aren’t we being Mr. Sarcastic today?” Nina teased.

Hugh shifted on the couch, eyes trained on his brother. Nate flashed a momentary sneer before he could school his face into that perfect Council façade he’d long ago perfected.

“Yes,” Hugh agreed. “There’s little wonder America’s youth has such an unhealthy fascination with vampires these days, what with the drivel being force-fed to them by the media.”

“Yet you allow young children access to an electronic babysitter where such rot is perpetrated. And you sit by and do nothing,” Nathaniel sneered, reaching for another cup of tea. “I don’t understand how American parents have such disregard for their offspring’s welfare that they leave them with that idiot box as a babysitter.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever tried to grade papers, cook dinner and keep watch over an active five year old all at the same time,” Nina muttered.

“No offense meant, Ma’am,” Nathaniel back-pedaled smoothly. “How about introducing me to your little one and his friend? What with our Charlotte about to bring a new life into the family, I’d like to become acquainted with the boy. I’ve not spent much time around children, myself, other than my younger siblings.”

“Will!” Angel called. “Come here for a few minutes. I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Quick as a wink, Will clambered into his father’s lap, leaving his friend standing somewhat awkwardly behind the couch.

Nathaniel gasped. “He’s Rumpari! How can you allow that creature in your house, much less near your son? Why haven’t you killed the creature?”

“Daddy, why does that man want Whistler to be dead?” 

_Whistler? Guess it’s as good a name as any._

Will’s tearful eyes nearly caused his father to come undone. When had he become such a sap towards his boy?

“Yes, Nate,” Hugh interjected. “Explain to the boy why you want his friend murdered.” He walked over to the couch, standing next to Whistler, who’d begun to keen softly.

“That’s not a child! That’s a demon,” Nathaniel insisted. “Rumpari eat people, therefore it’s our imperative to remove the threat before any more humans are killed.”

“Adult Rumpari occasionally partake of a human meal as a celebratory feast. This one hasn’t even gotten his teeth in. After his association with humans, he may never partake in the tradition.”

Nate shook his head in disagreement. “Yes, he’s an immature specimen, but he’s small and easy to take out with a minimum of fuss and danger. I thought you were taught better than that, Hugh. Surely you’ve not forgotten _all_ of your Watcher’s teachings by working here?”

Angel watched in fascination as the two brothers sniped at each other. How he could ever have taken Hugh for a Council stooge was beyond him.

“But I’m not a Watcher, as you and everyone else has been fond of pointing out ad infinitum since I failed my field test… twice,” Hugh shot back, trying to hide his embarrassment at being exposed in front of his wife and chosen family.

Whistler’s keening grew louder, and he’d begun to quiver unmistakably with fear. Hugh produced his little whistle and blew several trills, and the boy noticeably calmed. “There, there, young one. We’ll keep you safe,” he murmured.

Will glanced from adult to adult, and the bitter, angry faces they each wore now. He scrambled from his father’s lap and grabbed Whistler’s hand. “Gonna go play in my room now. You make my ears hurt.”

The little Rumpari warbled something to Hugh, who responded in kind before he and Will headed to the stairs.

“Care to share with the rest of the class what that little beast just said, brother?” All traces of Nathaniel’s earlier benevolence and good humor had vanished, leaving behind the cold façade of an old fashioned leave-no-survivors Watcher.

“No, I don’t believe I care to, brother,” Hugh sniped back, standing tall against his elder for a change. “You have no interest in knowing what he said, or how he feels. You just want him eradicated.”

“And what’s wrong with that? With wanting a dangerous demon taken out before he has the chance to harm the populace?”

The adults looked towards the stairs, where both Will and Whistler had retrieved their respective bears.

“That _dangerous demon_ as you’ve defined him told me you scared him, and he wanted to go home. Who do you think he considers to be the monster here, Nathaniel?”

“It’s not about being a monster, Hugh. It’s about being responsible. It’s about making the hard choices for the good of mankind.” Nathaniel stood there, so calm and righteous – completely sure in his convictions.

“You’re not hurting Whistler!” Will hurtled towards the elder Chalmers, with all the bravado the little five year old could muster. For a small child, he did his damnedest to appear intimidating. Standing in front of the Watcher, he planted his fists on his hips and glared upwards.

“He’s a good boy, mister. He colors on the paper and not on the floor, and he like peanut butter an’ jelly sandwiches.”

“Mr. Chalmers,” Nina cut in frostily, pushing her son back and out of the way. “This is my house. You are here as a guest. True enough, you’re Hugh’s family, but Hugh is ours as well, by choice. Whistler is here until his family comes for him. He was probably orphaned during the wedding massacre between the Rumparis and…” she looked to her husband for help.

“Thpazial,” he offered, stroking her back gently to lend his support.

“Right,” she continued. “Between Thpazial and Rumpari demons. Angel and Hugh did the responsible thing and saved as many of the humans as they could. To leave this child alone to be prey to whatever else lurks in the sewers would have been reprehensible. Any parent or parent-to-be would have done the same thing. As you can see, our son knows enough to take an individual at face value… no matter what that face looks like.”

“Yes, he would, wouldn’t he, Mrs. Dowell. What with a vampire for a father.”

Will shoved his way in-between his mother and the angry man. “My daddy is a good vampire. He helps all kinds of people.”

Nathaniel smiled coldly; the look in his eyes calculating and unpleasant. “Yes, boy. That’s true. Once he stopped killing people and eating sewer rats.”

Angel sat stiffly on the couch, unwilling to come to his own defense.

“That’s enough! You need to leave… now!” Nina picked up her son and shoved Nate in her anger. “Surely the Council recognizes the good my husband has done over the past few decades.”

“And is that supposed to negate the thousands of human lives he’s responsible for taking over the past two and a half centuries? The Council has a long and unforgiving memory, Mrs. Dowell.”

Charlotte stood then, looking a little green around the gills. “I’m sorry, love. I can’t be here anymore. The baby’s kicking up a rumpus from all this yelling and stress, and it’s not good for Will or Whistler, either. Let me take the children upstairs to play.” 

Hugh’s concern shifted immediately to his wife. “Are you okay, Pooki? Do you need…”

“I’m fine, hon. I just need to lie down for a bit. Will can come and get you if I need anything.” She turned to her brother-in-law with a stiff formality she’d never shown around anyone before. “Nate, it had been a pleasure to see you, until you let your prejudices get in the way. Until you can tone down your hostilities, you’re not welcome here. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping my bounds, Nina, but I don’t think any of us needs to deal with this.”

“It’s time I take care of my family, Nate.” Hugh turned his back on his brother, taking Will and Whistler by the hand. “We have nothing more to say to each other at the moment.”

Gathering his coat, Nathaniel stared at his younger brother. “Don’t think this is over, Hugh. I see we need to have a serious discussion about what is and isn’t appropriate in dealing with demons.”

“You don’t see anything, you wanker,” Hugh spat, pulling his whistle out of his pocket and blowing two sharp blasts, causing the little Rumpari to trill behind his own hand.

“Why do I think you just said something not meant for little Rumpari ears?” Charlotte asked, shakily as she leant back into her husband’s embrace.

“Because it was something I shouldn’t have said in front of anyone, of course.” Hugh sighed. “Let’s go upstairs and put you to…”

A shrill whistle came from the front door. Angel immediately leapt into a defensive stance in front of the humans, as two seven-foot tall Rumpari entered the hotel.

Hugh moved to his side, whistle at the ready. “Don’t make the first move, Angel. Let’s see what they have to say for themselves.”

Nathaniel took two shaky steps backwards, closer to the full-sized demons than anyone else before pulling two long knives from his coat’s lining. It was clear he knew how to fight. A true Watcher, trained in the art of killing demons. And deeply out of his depth in this situation.

“Get the children upstairs,” Angel called over his shoulder.

Shrugging out of Hugh’s grasp, Whistler ran towards the larger of the two demons chirping happily.

“He… is mine.” With a voice like broken glass, the Rumpari pointed an accusing finger towards Angel. “You kill parents. You take boy. We take… back.”

A barrage of short whistles and long trills followed between the younger Chalmers and the three demons. Hugh fished a small pad out of his pocket and tried to transcribe the dialogue onto paper. High, low, melodic, shrill – it was giving Angel a headache and he stopped trying to make sense of it early on.

When it suddenly ended, Hugh looked like he was gearing up for a long-winded explanation.

“Have mercy on a poor vampire and make it ten words or less.”

Hugh looked stunned. “Ten words or…” he blustered. “How…?” At Angel’s glower, he relented. “Fine, then. Arranged marriage. Sister survived. Uncle will raise… both,” he said, counting off on his fingers as he looked mighty pleased with himself.

Angel was impressed. “And they say Council-folk can’t keep things simple,” he smirked.

“Well, as I’ve said repeatedly, I’m not a Watcher.”

“That’s for bloody well sure,” Nate grumbled. Why didn’t his brother understand he only had his best interests at heart? The sight of a demon next to his pregnant sister-in-law set his teeth on edge. Nate had never bought into the ‘souled vampire as reformed’ camp and wasn’t happy about Hugh being assigned to him. If he’d only complete his task, Nate would be happy to find another appointment closer to home.

Whistler clung to his elder’s hand, obviously happy to be back amongst his family again, but as they headed towards the exit, the little demon pulled back – running first to Angel and Nina, bowing his head. “Tinks,” he said, reaching for their hands. “Tinks ooh.”

He waved at his friends still standing on the stairs. “Bhy bhy. Bhy We-il.” A long, smooth whistle followed, and the demons were gone.

Nathaniel spluttered with indignation. “You’re just letting them leave? Those two definitely kill and eat humans, even if their spawn doesn’t yet.”

“That’s part of what I needed to explain,” Hugh said, pointing to his scribbled notes. “They promised to try and convince their clan to change over to eating cats instead of humans for their future ceremonies.”

The women glowered in disgust as if his suggestion was just as despicable.

“It’s a common meat amongst demons. They tend to control the feral cat problem in large cities. It’s also the best compromise they’d accept. The Rumpari are indebted to you, Angel, for taking their youngster in and treating him well. They take great pride in their children, like another species we’re all familiar with,” he murmured, tenderly rubbing Charlotte’s expanded belly.

“But kitties, Hugh? Does it have to be harmless furry animals?” His wife’s teary-eyed expression almost made him stumble.

“Would you prefer they stick with humans?”

“I guess…”

“You’re fools!” Nathaniel’s words cut through the tender scene.

“Maybe we are,” Angel said defensively, standing in front of the agitated Watcher. “And maybe we’ve just gained an ally in the fight against true evil in this city. From whatever source it comes, additional help is always welcomed.”

Nathaniel didn’t seem to be convinced.

“The wedding we interrupted was a coming together of two demon species that up until that point had nothing but enmity between them. If we’d killed the boy, those two clans would more than likely have joined together against humanity. A race like the Rumpari with no real reason to attack humans one way or the other, could have joined the Thpazial in their retribution.”

Angel turned to Nate, willing him to understand “Because we were ‘fools’ enough to keep the boy safe and happy, a possible uprising was prevented.”

“They will turn on you in the end,” the Watcher insisted. “You can’t trust demons. Any demons,” he spat pointedly and walked out the door.

***

**Several Days Later**

After the disaster of Nathaniel’s visit, the little family relished the peace and quiet of a lazy Sunday afternoon just spent together.

Angel opened the front door. Mindful of the sun’s rays at that hour of the day, he reached down for his newspaper; glad for once to have a chance at the crossword puzzle before Hugh got his little hands on it. That man could be sneaky when it came to his love of word puzzles.

Instead of the paper, however, his hand came in contact with an old-fashioned, two flap wooden picnic basket. Cautious in the face of their many enemies, Angel unhinged the latch and let lose with an unmanly scream as the little furry creatures leapt towards freedom.

Will ran to see what the fuss was all about. “Kitties!” he yelled, happily dropping to the floor to play with the mewling bundles. “Mommy, come look. Daddy got kitties.”

Nina simply raised her brow.

Angel held out a painstakingly written note as an explanation.

_Thank you. Cats good. Enjoy._


	18. A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall

**After Willow called about a new spell to rescue Buffy.**

Xander hung up the phone. He couldn’t think of Buffy’s possible return without getting sick to his stomach.

Five bottles of beer sat on the shelf in front of him; all of them untouched. Three bottles graced the rack above his sink. Every available flat surface in Xander’s modest apartment had received the same decorator’s touch.

They’d been acquired slowly, over the course of the past three weeks. M’bule, a neighbor, told him he was crazy. If he wanted the benefits of all that beer, he’d have to actually open the bottles and drink them down.

Xander, however, shook his head and refused to touch a drop. Several more bottles found their way to the top of his small box refrigerator. Everywhere he stood, he saw them. On his nightstand, they stood in a ring around his lamp. In the bathroom, they stood neck and neck with his shampoo and body soap.

All sealed, all covered with the dust that inundated the small abode, and still Xander continued to shell out his cash for more.

Adeola had teased him about the first five bottles. The fifteen year old Slayer placed in his charge grew tired of trying to keep them dust free. She’d pushed the point, eventually threatening to drink them herself.

“Go on, silly man,” she’d teased one overly sweltering evening. “These are beer bottles, not genie. Your Anya not come out to smack you for taking your pleasure.”

He’d punched her. In the jaw.

That had been three weeks ago.

Though grateful that her Slayer strength prevented him from harming her physically, the look in her tearful brown eyes gutted him.

It had been three weeks since Anya’s name had been mentioned in passing. Three weeks after belting the girl placed under his protection and guidance and he’d begged her to leave.

And still Anya was lost to him. 

Before she left, Adeola had a few choice words of her own.

“You’re a ghost, man. Nothing more than a shadow. You allow death and loss to rule you when you should rejoice in still living. Perhaps it was you should have died, for all the life you not relish.”

Nothing more than he’d repeated to himself at least once a night since Sunnydale went belly up.

Each day he added more bottles to his collection, now covering entire surfaces.

He’d hit the girl. A child under his protection. His ward. Worse than his father, he was. Old Pops might have beaten on his mother in a drunken rage, but he’d never laid a finger on his son.

Yet he’d hit her, like his father had hit his mother, and his grandfather had hit his grandmother.

Hidden inside his nightstand were two bottles of unopened Scotch. He’d bought three of them on the black market instead of food years ago. He’d lost his appetite, and only ate when his stomach sounded louder than the droning cicadas.

The third bottle stood on his bathroom sink – the only one he’d opened. It was on the occasion of Willow’s phone call four yeas ago – when she told him of Spike’s resurrection.

“Did Anya return, too?” he’d asked her, already knowing the answer.

Spike was back, given yet _another_ chance at life – his fourth go round, while Anya lay buried under the rubble.

Xander had opened the bottle and poured most of its contents into the toilet, followed by whatever he’d eaten for breakfast that day. His hand curled into a fist for want of smashing the bastard in the face for coming back. It was something he couldn’t face. How do you look into the eyes of a child and wish it dead?

He picked slowly at a scab on his hand before dumping the remaining scotch into the toilet.

It had been three weeks since he’d told Adeola to go back to the Council for another Watcher. He wondered if she, too, would return.


	19. The Soul's Betrayal

**Spring, 2010 – Sometime Before Will’s 6th Birthday**

_What… what had happened? Months had passed, and she seemed to have been unaware._ Buffy didn’t know how long she’d been ‘gone’. Judging by what her friends wore, what passed for winter in California had come and gone. The weakness she felt was similar to when she first became aware.

“I miss you, Buffy. Want you to come out and play.”

She managed to look down with her noticeably diminished vision. Little William stood in front of her, head bowed – the very picture of dejection.

Oh, how she wanted to. Buffy could only imagine how many times he’d stood in front of her and been disappointed. It was a miracle he persisted looking for her at all.

“Hey, Will,” she thought weakly. “I don’t feel strong enough to come out and play, but if you can hear me, at least we can talk.”

The little boy squealed with delight. “Buffy! You woke up.” He hugged her around the legs, as he’d done when he was a toddler. “You sleep too long,” he chastised.

Buffy ached to reach out and stroke his face. She could tell he’d aged somewhat since she last saw him. His face was a little thinner and he’d definitely grown a few inches. The thought that she’d missed months of his life tore at her heart. Memories of those last few seconds when she’d held him in her arms were precious.

It was then that Buffy noted the hub of activity going on around them. “Why are Grandpa Giles and Aunt Willow here, sweetie? Are you guys having a party?”

“I dunno.” Will pouted, toeing the ground near the base of the statue. “Nobody tells me anything. And they all stop talking when I walk into the room. Makes me mad.”

“Who else is here, baby?” After so much silence, the noise level was hard to handle.

“Auntie Dawn and Uncle Connor. Oh! When you were sleeping, Lotte and Uncle Hugh had a baby. Her name is Bethany Rose and she cries all the time. Lotte says she has garlic. I like garlic on my pizza. Why would a baby have garlic?”

Buffy stifled a giggle when she realized Will meant ‘colic’. Kiddy babble. It reminded her of Xander. With a pang, she realized it’d been years since she’d even thought about him. There was no way of asking anyone if he was okay.

“Auntie Willow has been mixing up some really stinky stuff. And she says these funny words over and over. Her and Grandpa Giles. Just like in Harry Potter.”

“That’s because your Auntie Willow is a witch. Wait…you know about Harry Potter?” Buffy was intrigued. She didn’t think William was old enough to be reading those books.

“Yeah. Everybody takes turns reading to me before bed. Uncle Hugh reads it best. He talks different.”

“That’s called an accent. It’s because he comes from England, like Grandpa Giles.”

“Uh huh.” Will nibbled on his lower lip, deep thought evident on his face. “If Auntie Willow is a witch, how come she doesn’t wear robes or pointy hats?”

“Harry Potter is just a story, sweetie, even though witches are real. They don’t usually run around wearing big pointy hats… although, I do seem to remember Grandpa Giles wearing a purple one with glitter stars on it for Halloween, once. He can do magic, too.”

Awe colored the boy’s voice. “Wow! Grandpa’s cool. I wanna do magic when I grow up, Buffy.”

“No!” Buffy’s yell startled William. “Don’t fool around with it, William. Magic can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“But I wanna make things float and dis’pear just like in the movies.” Will pouted again. “It’s easy. Even little kids did it.”

 _That pout really should be classified as a lethal weapon._ “And if I remember right, some of them got hurt,” Buffy insisted.

“You mean like this?” Will held up his arm, showing a practically healed burn on the heel of his hand. “Mommy said the stove was dangerous and not to touch it and I did on accident. Really,” he insisted, when he heard Buffy’s quiet chuckle. “I just wanted to see for myself,” he mumbled.

 _Oh, Will! I wish…_ Buffy cut herself off. She knew better. Even though she’d tried wishing many times before. _Guess there weren’t any vengeance demons listening to marbleized Slayers._ “Was it very bad? Are you okay?”

“Daddy had to take me to the hospital, ‘cause it hurted really bad and I got a – a bister. It popped and watery stuff and gunk came out.”

“Well, you got lucky, but it wouldn’t have happened if you’d have listened to your Mommy. Sometimes adults know better.” _And when did I become Marion Cunningham?_ You can’t always do what you want. It’s a hard thing to learn, but it’ll save you a whole lot of pain once you do. Promise me you’ll try and listen, okay?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Buffy pushed.

Will cocked his head; a little smirk gracing his lips. “Is it a real pinky promise if we can’t twist pinkies?”

 _Cheeky little thing. He’s gonna be a handful when he grows up._ “Listen to me, kiddo. I will never lie to you. If I tell you something, you can believe me. Remember that. Buffy will always tell Sp… William the truth. Trust me.”

“I do. I do trust you, Buffy.” Eyes shining bright, voice earnest… words from the heart. A truth he’d given her as an adult. As a vampire. It moved her more than she could admit.

“Hey there, Will.” Dawn appeared from nowhere and knelt down besides the boy. “Talking to Buffy again?”

He nodded.

“Well, I hope this spell works. Pretty soon we’ll have a real, live Buffy lady, and we can all talk to her.”

“She’s already real, Auntie Dawn,” Will said, pointing at the statue. “You can talk to her now. She’s listening,” he whispered, sotto voce.

“She is, is she? Okay, then. Hey there, Buffy,” Dawn said, wiggling her fingers in her sister’s direction.

“Buffy misses you so much. She’s very sad.”

“We all miss her, cutie. It’s been so long since we’ve seen her.”

_How can I make her… oh! I know._

“Auntie Dawn… Buffy said to tell you she’s sorry she lied to you.”

“Lied about what, hon?”

“She said that marshmallows weren’t really made out of monkey brains.” Will looked at Buffy, then made a gagging noise. “Ewwww, yucky. Hot chocolate and monkey brains?” The little boy shuddered in disgust.

“What?” Dawn shrieked. “How did you know about the monkey brains?” She’d turned to Buffy, not sure of what to do or say.

Giles called from across the little garden. “It’s time for you to play your part, Dawn.”

Dawn stayed her feet momentarily, conflicted. “Buffy?” she whispered, before turning and heading over to where she was needed.

Buffy would have cried if she was capable. “Oh God, Dawnie. We were so close.”

“Are they gonna get you out, Buffy?” Will rested his hand on her hip in a comforting gesture.

He looked at her with _those_ eyes. The ones where his soul shined through, showing his every feeling and thought. The same expression Spike had on his face when he told her he loved her in the abandoned house the night before the big battle. The one she’d lost him… the first time. Turned out she was just as uncomfortable with all that heartfelt emotion focused solely on her as she had been then.

Nobody deserved that kind of love and loyalty, least of all her.

“Will, I…”

“Come on, Will. Time to go upstairs.” Nina took her son in hand and headed towards the door.

“But Buffy…”

“You can see Buffy later, honey. Right now, Charlotte and little Bethany are upstairs, waiting for you.”

The boy didn’t want to go. He tugged on Nina’s hand, refusing to leave the garden.

“William Matthew Jamison Dowell… you march yourself upstairs to your room right now, or I’ll tell Charlotte not to give you those chocolate chip cookies we made yesterday.”

“Bye, Buffy,” he whispered. “Don’t be scareded. I’ll watch from my window, ‘kay?” Quick as a wink, he ran into the Hyperion.

Buffy had already turned her attention towards the knot of people across the way. Angel and Hugh stood off to the side, along with Connor and Dawn. Giles and Willow continued to chant.

“Please let this work,” Angel whispered – the last thing Buffy heard before her world consisted of nothing but bright orange flames as the marble seemed to groan from an internal pressure.

***

Wes sat at the foot of the sarcophagus, his more than ghostly fingers just capable of turning the pages of the ‘borrowed’ text. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache threatening to overtake him.

“You’d think a bloody ghost would be immune from human frailties,” he murmured. “Binding powders. Binding magicks. Binding rituals… bindings, breaking of. Aha!”

He looked towards the ceiling as his head exploded. Or felt damned near to it, anyway. Wes’ vision field expanded past the basement, then the lobby, to the outdoors… showing him the events in the garden.

“How is this possible?” _Good Lord! They’ve actually found a way to free the girl._

Orange flames obscured his vision as the intense heat sent him crab-walking backwards several feet. The ground began to rumble beneath his feet, setting up just enough resonance that he could feel it in his ghostly bones.

***

“Is this something we need to be worried about, guys?” Angel figured the ground was rebelling against the magicks being used to free Buffy. After so many years, it was probably loathe to release her. “Should I insist that Connor and Dawn find a safer place…”

“You just try it, buster,” Dawn fumed. “I’m here until the end, no matter what happens. Nobody keeps me away from my sister. A few ground farts aren’t going to send me running.”

Connor simply held up his hands in defeat. He’d learned long ago never to get between the woman he loved and the object of her attention.

“Besides,” Dawn smirked. “I had a shirt made up just in case.” She lifted her sweater, showing off her sky-blue t-shirt with glitter stars and navy lettering that read: _I survived her first resurrection._ “How many chances do you think I’ll get to wear this?”

“Have we reached another dead end?” Angel demanded of Hugh, watching the flames flicker out of existence. “All this amounts to nothing more than a fireworks display, and Buffy is still trapped.”

***

As the flames died down, Wes continued to read: “And their birth cries will rent the air as the grounds themselves do tremble to give up their lost soul – as it tears its bonds asunder.”

The ground continued to shake and the tremors gained in force. He watched with fascination as Illyria’s coffin began to rock slightly from side-to-side. The stone left gouges on the wall it had been resting against.

***

A sharp crackling sound drew everyone’s attention towards the statue. Spider web fractures appeared its surface as the air around her began to shimmer, taking on the sensation of a pulsing heartbeat. The atmosphere around Buffy was highly charged, sending off warning sparks to everyone nearby.

“Willow, back off.” Giles pulled the woman back several feet. “It’s possible the marble will shatter and…”

Just like that, the earth stopped its juddering and silence rang out in the little garden. The statue was still – no more fissures appeared, no more crackling sounded. Suddenly, like an explosion of fairy dust, the stone vanished – leaving a naked Buffy to crumple to the ground.

***

“No, no, no, no, no!” Wesley sighed softly as he whipped through page after page in his frustration. “Illyria, you ask for too much. It’s not fair.”

_A guardian is sought amongst the Learned, the Warrior, the Living and the Dead. All lay down a previous life and bow to the Old One’s superior will. What is bound, will remain bound._

_Illyria is a name to be held in fear and reverence. Illyria is mighty. Those that serve the Old Ones are strengthened in their servitude and shall be rewarded with their lives. Traitors will not be borne. Divine retribution is swiftly bestowed upon those who attempt to relinquish the golden shackles. In endless pain shall they suffer for their penance, for Illyria is mighty._

_In Illyria, God King of the Primordium._

***

Dawn ran over to her sister before anyone else could make a move, knelt by her side and embraced her. “Oh God, Buffy. It’s you. You’re back.”

“D-dawnie?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Dawn whispered. “I love you. I missed you so much. You know that, right?” She felt compelled to repeat it over and over again, just in case she wasn’t getting through; to make up for all the times in the past when she’d been less than demonstrative. “I love you so very much.”

Looking deep into Buffy’s eyes, she could tell her sister was disoriented. Her hazel eyes wouldn’t focus. Her movements were slow and jerky. Dawn had been through this before. Leading Buffy through the ravaged streets of Sunnydale the night her sister had crawled out of her grave.

This time around, Dawn knew she’d be a better sister. She wouldn’t abandon her in a fit of teenaged pique. She’d help Buffy any which way she needed her. Stand up with her, hold her hand – even if she insisted that she could do it all on her own.

When Buffy trembled, Dawn ran for the robe they’d brought out in preparation for the big event. Wrapping her sister in lush pink chenille, she led Buffy over to a stone bench, grateful; for the space and time their extended family was allowing them.

 _Please, Buffy. Talk to me. Show me you’re in there._ Dawn wanted to drag the words out – to prove they’d actually succeeded in freeing her sister. But, being the better person she was trying to be meant she had to give Buffy the time she needed. The time to come to her senses. To not let her be overwhelmed by the sensations that had to be pounding on her now after all those years encased in marble.

“Dawn?” Buffy repeated.

The name was garbled; pain evident in her features from the effort, but she was there… really there. In body and mind. Please let them have the time to make this right, Dawn prayed.

“Where’s Spike, Dawn?”

“Spike?” Dawn felt her heart break. How could she tell her sister that their beloved vampire was dead again. Permanently dead. How would she be able to stand…

“I know he’s back, honey. Davide told me before…”

Dawn looked up; the shock evident on her friends’ faces alarmed her. Only Connor looked befuddled.

“Oh, Buffy… I’m so sorry. I really am, but… Spike’s dead,” she sobbed, unable to hold back her own tears.

“No, he’s not,” Buffy insisted.

Dawn was flat out crying now. “He’s dead,” she squeaked. “Yes, Spike did come back, but he died again about the time you vanished. When that _bastarde_ killed you… imprisoned you.” Dawn wished she could hold back the grief and be strong for her sister, but she just couldn’t lie. Not now, not to Buffy.

Her sister’s speech was eerily calm, and improving with each word. “I was just talking to him. Spike’s fine.”

 _Buffy!!_ Will yelled from his window, waving happily.

She looked up, smiling gently. “There, see? Spike is just fine.”

“No, Buffy. That’s William, Spike’s son.” Dawn finally said.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Buffy’s accusatory words were aimed at Angel.

Dawn couldn’t fathom her sister’s… teasing? No, hostility. Where the hell did that come from, and why did Angel look like he’d rather be anywhere but there right now? And what was keeping the stupid vampire from coming over and comforting Buffy?

Angel broke from his stasis and turned towards his son at the window. “Charlotte… keep William upstairs. Don’t let him come down here for any reason.”

Buffy focused her anger on her one-time lover. “Tell her, Angel. Tell her the truth.”

“What truth?” He tried avoiding her gaze, but Buffy’s eyes burned right through him.

Dawn forced the issue. “Not now, Angel. Please… Buffy says there’s a truth that has to be told. In the face of this huge miracle that’s brought her back to us… please, what does she want me to know?”

“Look, it’s just not going to make a difference. Nothing will change if you knew.”

Buffy attempted to stand, shrugging her sister’s arm from her shoulders and losing her robe in the process. “I want to see Spike, now. Get him downstairs, or I’ll get him myself if I have to crawl up the damned stairs on my hands and knees.”

“Don’t push this, please,” Angel pleaded. “It won’t make anything better for anyone.”

Dawn rewrapped the robe around her sister’s body. _Why was Buffy so sure Angel was lying… and what did it have to do with Spike?_

“Buffy, where do you think Spike is? Why are you so sure he’s here? If Spike were back… I mean, he and Angel couldn’t stand each other.”

“He’s here, Dawn,” Buffy insisted through chattering teeth.

Dawn held her close, trying to control her sister’s tremors. Buffy was burning up. _Why couldn’t anyone ever return from the dead perfectly healthy?_

Buffy’s eyes grew glassy and her shivering more pronounced. “Will, please,” she begged. “Need to see you.”

“Me? You want to see me, Buffy?” Willow was at her side in a flash, holding her hands.

“No! Spike!” Buffy yelled, pointing at the window. “Spike! William! I need you.”

Seconds later, Charlotte yelled out the window. “Angel, I’m sorry. Will managed to get past me and ran down the stairs when I was changing Bethany.”

The warning came too late. Will ran straight to the bench.

“Buffy! Buffy! You came out to play,” the boy shouted, grabbing her around the waist and resting his head in her lap.

“See, Dawn? Spike!” Buffy said, smugness dripping from her words. She ran her fingers along Will’s cheekbone, as if reading a Braille map.

Will didn’t comment on being called Spike, as if it were an everyday occurrence. As if he were used to it.

Dawn turned to Angel once again. “Fess up, Mr. Broody – this isn’t funny anymore, and it’s bordering on the downright weird. And make it fast – Buffy doesn’t look too well.”

Angel was saved from having to admit to anything when Buffy let out a cry of pain. Immediately he grabbed for his son.

“Oh God, it hurts,” Buffy moaned.

Giles frantically began searching through the spells they had used for errors, or possible side effects and found nothing that explained Buffy’s present symptoms. Willow was also at a loss in regards to what had gone wrong. Everyone else seemed frozen by worry and indecision.

Her pain grew worse – enough that she convulsed and fell to the ground in a fetal position. “Dawn, make it stop. Oh God, please… make it stop. I want to stay. Why can’t I stay!” Her body stiffened, then slowly returned to the marbleized creation she’d been only moments before.

Dawn stared at the tortured expression on Buffy’s face, her sister’s arm flung over her eyes in a mockery of her earlier pose.

Will cried hysterically in his father’s arms. “Bring her back, Daddy. Please!!! I’ll be good. I’ll stay in my room when you tell me to,” he sobbed. “She’s so scared.”

At his whimper, the last bit of self-control in the garden was lost. There wasn’t a soul amongst them not weeping for the woman who’d been inexplicably pulled from their grasp.

***

“I’ve been wondering when she’d call you back.” Wes greeted Buffy as her spirit slowly re-corporealized in front of the sarcophagus. “I’m truly sorry they weren’t able to free you,” he whispered sadly as her essence, wracked in silent pain, was forced to her knees. 

Buffy tried to rise and found herself unable to; the pain was incredible, forcing her to remain at kneel. She stared accusingly at Wes, silent and condemning.

“I’m not doing this,” he swore as he looked back at the tomb. “Illyria, stop it!” he yelled, to no avail.

Something pulled at her, tearing her apart at the seams. Buffy felt herself being dragged into indescribable darkness. Slipping into an endless void. Rendering all that made her ‘Buffy’ meaningless in the vast nothing.

If asked, she’d never be able to say how long she’d surrendered to the forces battering her around. As far as she knew, she’d always been there, and always would be – bowing before the presence of something so old – so alien, she could only equate it to a snake slithering through her very soul.

Suddenly, she was back in the basement, screaming for all she was worth. Not a sound passed her lips.

Wesley was still there, staring blankly at the sarcophagus she’d just emerged from. When he tried to help her, his hands passed through her – even this was to be denied her.

“It’s as I feared,” he murmured as he slowly lost coherence. “She won’t let you go. She won’t let either of us go. We’re doomed to be her chosen guardians until such time as she reawakens.”

Buffy watched as Wes faded from her sight, and she followed suit. Once more a prisoner in a block of marble.

***

Angel sat on the couch holding his son in his lap. William had just stopped crying over Buffy’s disappearance and was snuffling softly into his soggy Paddy bear. Why the kid was so upset over someone he’d never met mystified him.

Dawn came downstairs, depositing two suitcases by the front door. Angel wanted to say something, to try and explain once more… but she ignored him. Apparently, she’d said her piece earlier, and now there was nothing he could do but watch as Buffy’s little sister left his home... and his life. His family.

For some reason, she refused to say a word to Connor, no matter how much he’d begged her for an explanation. All she’d said was she could never love a liar. Over and over again. Connor wouldn’t allow his father to comfort him – after all, he was the reason the love of his life was walking out.

Nina took off with the Chalmers. They figured it was a good time to visit Gunn and his family, giving the situation time to cool down at home. Nobody was fit company.

Pulling on her coat as if she couldn’t stay for one moment longer, Dawn cringed as Will began to cry again.

“Please don’t leave, Auntie Dawn. It hurts,” he whimpered, still holding Paddy in his outstretched arms. “Don’t leave Buffy. She’ll cry.”

_Oh, William. That was down and dirty pool._

She turned back, coming to kneel besides the boy. Dawn took his face in her hands and looked him straight in the eyes, much as she did the first time she saw him in Angel’s office, four years ago.

“I don’t want to hurt you, sweet William. My leaving has nothing to do with you, really. I still love you. I promise to write, and call you all the time. We’ll still be the best of friends. I just can’t stay.” Her breath hitched as she smoothed a lock of hair from Will’s forehead. “I just can’t stay in a house built on lies.”

Will pulled away from Dawn, throwing Paddy on the ground in outrage. “Then leave,” he screamed, jumping down from his father’s lap. “I don’t need you.” He ran towards the garden door, turning once before he crossed the threshold. “I hate you,” he spat, his little face crumpled trying to hold himself together, and failing miserably.

“And I will always love you,” Dawn whispered, watching him slam the door shut behind him. She picked up the disheveled bear, smoothed his vinyl hat, and set him down on the couch besides Angel.

She left without another word.


	20. Sins of the Father

Gunn sat in his office. The door was locked; his desk covered with stacks of files, most of them untouched. He could hear his wife’s familiar voice as she yelled at the kids, telling them to hush – Daddy was working.

Daddy grimaced as he wadded up another piece of paper and tossed it through the hoop on the back of the door.

 _Swoosh! Another perfect game for Charles Gunn, Esquire._ He fought back the urge to whistle yet another Gilbert and Sullivan aria from The Pirates of Penzance.

Yeah, he may not be a corporate pirate anymore, but he still did more than his fair share of finagling paperwork to better serve his clients. And the first piece… the worst and best lie he’d written up post his Wolfram & Hart days was… William Michael Jamison Pratt’s private adoption papers.

Shaking off his discomfort for the moment, he turned to more pleasant matters… he stared lovingly at the pictures on his desk. Their wedding picture to his left. His beautiful Anne, bedecked in white lace. She’d wanted a traditional wedding – said she was only gonna do it once, so it had to be done right. The guest list, however, was anything but.

Their reception christened the new shelter and the entire neighborhood had been invited. Bride and groom in gown and tux, and guests in blue jeans and t-shirts. It couldn’t have been more perfect. Never had fast-food tasted so good. He couldn’t help but smile as he caressed his bride’s framed image.

To his right were the images of their beautiful children. Alonna Kathleen – his sister’s namesake and their firstborn. Beautiful child. Her first school picture; all thick black hair, café-au-lait complexion, and pretty brown eyes. Benjamin Sisko – the son whose name Anne pretended ignorance of in its origin as the first leading captain in a Star Trek series to be portrayed by a black actor. Nappy haired, darker skin, and his father’s nose – with the prettiest shade of blue-gray eyes. The boy who’d completed their little family… until the surprise package that was their newest production arrived – little Carolyn Jane, just three weeks old. Skin as white as her mama’s, fair haired – hard to tell whom her features favored so early on in her young life, and bald as her Daddy liked to keep himself. Little Cue-ball.

Gunn sighed. He was one proud papa. Something he never thought he’d live to be when he was younger.

He picked up Will’s papers again. Seemed like he was drawn to them. Shit, man. How did one legally represent a Shanshued ex-vampire? Pick a mother, choose a father and voila! Lie upon lie. He’d live with it. It gave Spike a new start with blood kin in the truest sense of the word. Vampires certainly are who they ate.

For the third time today – Father’s Day – he found himself looking at those original documents and shook his head. He and Angel’d both agreed that the paperwork was a necessary evil to secure the boy’s place in the human world. They did _not_ agree, however, to lie to family. And lying by omission was still lying. He and Anne had both put in their arguments about telling both Connor the truth, and were soundly refused.

“He already loves him like a brother,” Angel had insisted. “Why should he mess that up with the history of a vampire he’d only met once in passing?”

That night, Gunn had written the first letter he’d never sent.

_Angel,_

_This is so fucked up, man! You can’t keep one child in the dark about another. You got lucky when Connor forgave you for stealing his memories and placing him with another family. Hell, you got lucky that we all forgave you for that little mind rape._

_Do you really think that you’ll get so lucky a second time?_

_Gunn_

He’d crumpled the paper into a tight ball and tossed it out, only to retrieve it moments later. For whatever reason, he straightened the letter out as best he could and placed it with the adoption papers.

A second letter was written when Dawn joined the fold and the lie was voiced for the very first time. He’d gone along with it at Angel’s behest for one reason only… he’d not known about the history between Dawn and Spike.

It wasn’t until several weeks later that Dawn regaled them all with Adventures in Babysitting starring the once chipped wonder, himself.

Gunn had mentioned in passing that he thought it was rather stupid of her sister, _The Slayer_ , to leave her in the care of a bloodsucker, no matter the chip in his head, and was floored at the girl’s simple reply.

“She trusted him. And she was dead at the time.”

So there you had it. The world’s first vampire babysitter where the child wasn’t eaten as an hors d’oeuvre.

Not a role he would’ve envisioned the blond vampire in. Not in a million years. Then again, they hadn’t had much to do with each other, unless you counted those bathroom peek-a-boo sessions during Spike’s ghostly phase, or the nods in passing before the end. There just hadn’t been time.

From the depth of Dawn’s feelings, it might have been interesting to have known the dude better. Now it was just another lost opportunity.

The young woman’s leaving played havoc on Angel and his family. William was devastated. Weeks later he still cried for his Auntie Dawn in his sleep. When he wasn’t crying for Buffy. What wouldn’t Gunn have given to have seen the legend come to life – even for just those few moments.

And Connor. The guy was an innocent here, and still he’d lost his woman. She’d left without listening to his protestations. Angel damned them both with his falsehood.

“Ah, children,” he sighed, picking up the plaque Alonna had made for him. Father of the Year 2010, it stated. She’d coated it with silver glitter. Gunn smiled, remembering the days it had taken to vacuum the excess stuff off the floor. And wash it from her hair. And her clothes… and the bed sheets. He traced the two handprints in the corners, and the additional fingerprints in the center where Will had leant his helping hand.

Will.

That wiped the smile from Gunn’s face as once again he gravitated towards the adoption papers. There were several other letters in that file, all as crumpled as the first. Letters begging Angel to tell Dawn the truth. Yeah, he might have had a hand in the construct of the falsehood, but for family – for people like Dawn who’d known Spike intimately – the lie was unnecessary. She would have been overjoyed to learn the ultimate fate of her friend.

Only now it was too late. The revelation had been brought to light under the worst possible circumstances. When the feeling of loss and betrayal were doubled as Buffy literally passed through her sister’s fingers.

Gunn felt like a damned fool. For all the words in his head; the knowledge of presentation… why could he never confront Angel face-to-face? Neither Spike or Cordelia had had trouble getting up into his space and telling him off for the stupid acts he’d committed, so why couldn’t he, Gunn… the vamp’s closest friend, do the same?

This time when Gunn grabbed the letters, he ran them through the shredder. Nothing left of his cowardice but tiny diamond-shaped slivers of paper.

Determined to make things right, he picked up the phone. He needed to call Angel. To bridge the gap that had developed since the incident with Dawn and the birth of CJ. _C’mon, man… just a couple more taps to the phonepad… just one more…_


	21. Boys Night Out

**2012 – Two Years After “The Betrayal”**

“Are you sure you want to eat here, Will?” Connor wasn’t altogether comfortable with his brother’s choice of restaurants. After all, Bella Cucina had been a favorite haunt for him and Dawn.

Will shook his head enthusiastically. Ever since he’d gotten home from school it was all he would talk about. He’d stuck Paddy bear inside the flap of his backpack and bounced up and down on the car seat within the restraints of his seatbelt, repeatedly kicking the back of the driver’s seat.

 _It was time,_ Connor thought. _Time to leave the past behind and just get on with life. It’d been nearly two years already with no word from his girl._

“All right, little bro – tell the lady what you want for dinner.”

Looking for all the world like he had a secret he wanted to share, Will motioned to the waitress to come closer. “I want a big plate of cal-ma-ri an’ spaghetti,” he whispered. “Not fried but… um, soaked? In butter?”

Three pairs of eyes turned his way.

“Oh, you mean sautéed?” Sharon, as her nameplate read, prompted, and looked to Angel as if to confirm the order.

Angel smiled. “Give the kid what he asked for. And I’d like an order of chicken fingers and double French fries, please.”

By this time, Connor’s eyes were popping out of his head. Not only had Will ordered one of Dawn’s favorite dishes, but his father ordered solid food. When Sharon turned towards him, he ordered Penne ala Vodka and two pitchers – one of beer and one of Mountain Dew – Will’s favorite soda. He had the oddest feeling the little guy would need something sweet to wash his dinner down with.

Unable to sit still, Will grabbed several breadsticks from the basket in the middle of the table. “Look, Dad. If I bite off the bottom, I can make ‘em lean like that tower in Italy.”

“What is with you and Italy today, boy?” Angel ruffled his son’s hair, earning himself a slight punch to his shoulder. “You know we always have Chinese for Connor’s birthday.”

“Got a secret,” Will said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a surprise for Connor, an’ I’m not telling until after dinner.

Connor laughed. His brother looked like the cat that ate the canary, right down to the yellow feathers peeking from between his lips. “A surprise, huh?”

Will nodded.

“Bet I can guess,” he said before blowing a straw wrapper in the boy’s face. “Is it in your backpack?”

“Yup.”

“Is it a new game for the PlayStation? The one you’ll probably want to come over and play?”

“Nope,” he giggled, shaking his head back and forth.

“My favorite shortbread cookies from Susina’s Bakery?”

“Nuh uh. And that’s two strikes.”

“One more and I’m out, eh?” Connor stroked the scraggly little beard on his chin, feigning a pained look. “Could it be a very quiet puppy to keep me company when you’re in school?”

“No more guesses, silly. I’ll tell you after dinner.”

“Then it’s a good thing dinner is here already,” Angel said, moving the cutlery and glassware aside to make way for their plates.

The look on Will’s face as their waitress placed the dish of sautéed squid covered in tomato sauce before him was priceless.

“Last chance, boy. Are you sure…”

“Dad!” William’s indignant shout caused heads to turn in their direction. “I said I wanted cal-ma-ri, and I’ll eat it.”

Connor had to admit the boy gave it a valiant effort. Will brought the first forkful to his lips and started to chew. And chew. And chew some more.

He handed his brother a glass of soda without saying a word.

The boy forced the straw between his lips and swallowed, hard, forcing the squid down his throat. It was the second forkful that defeated him. Holding his gag back was beyond his control as it neared his lips.

Looking at his eldest son first with a soft smile, Angel took pity on his youngest. “How about changing that delicious looking calamari for my chicken fingers and fries? I’m so not in the mood to eat them anymore, and you’d be saving them from going to waste.”

The boy’s sigh of relief could be heard throughout the restaurant.

Connor covered his mouth with his napkin to keep from laughing at his little brother’s dinner debacle. What on earth made Will order that god-awful meal? Nobody but Dawn could stomach it, and that included himself, and he’d grown up in a hell-dimension.

Watching Angel and Will together, Connor knew he’d made the right decision. This is what his childhood could have been like… would have been like, if he’d been raised by his real father instead of Holtz. If it hadn’t been for that bastard, Sahjahn, he’d only be eleven years old – just three years older than Will.

His sigh was tinged with a touch of regret for his own loss, but he didn’t… couldn’t… begrudge William for getting all the love Angel obviously held for his son. No matter what, Connor knew he was loved.

***

After dinner and a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday by the restaurant staff, accompanied by three plates of something called ‘Death by Chocolate,’ it was time for gift giving.

“Dad, I want to turn things around today,” Connor began, and handed Angel a manila envelope. He watched as the vampire’s eyes grew moist as he read the contents.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, raw emotion choking his voice.

At Connor’s nod, Angel stood up and grabbed his son close for a crushing hug.

“What’s the big deal about a bunch of papers?” Will looked a little put out by Angel’s display and the look of joy on his brother’s face.

“Look at this, Will. These are lawyers’ papers changing Connor’s last name to Dowell, like us. One big happy family,” he said, counting off: “Me, Angel Dowell; Mama, Nina Dowell; you, William Pratt-Dowell; and now Connor Dowell.”

Will shook his head unhappily.

“What’s the matter, bro?” Connor gave the youngster a poke in his belly. “Not happy to have me share your name?”

”No,” he murmured. “That does make me happy. But… but… _she’s_ missing.

And the light bulb went on.

“So that’s why you stuck those awful tentacle things in your mouth, you crazy kid? Because of Dawn?”

Will nodded. “She was s’posed to be a Dowell, too,” he sighed. “An’ she should be here.”

Connor hefted his brother into his arms. “I know it’s not fair, buddy. Gods, do I miss her.”

That seemed to snap Will out of his sad mood. “Oh! My birthday present.” He scrambled out of his brother’s embrace and tore into his backpack. “Here,” he said, handing him a purple envelope.

Of course he recognized her handwriting immediately. “Dawn sent this to you? You know where she is?” He grabbed Will’s shoulders tightly, along with the now crumpled letter – trying to stop himself from screaming aloud. “You have to tell me where she is, kiddo. I’ll do anything to…”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“This is the first time Auntie Dawn’s asked about you in two years. An’ she made me promise not to tell you before today.”

“Connor, let the boy go.” Angel spoke softly, prying his eldest’s fingers from Will’s already bruised shoulders. “You’re hurting him.”

He dropped to his knees in front of Will, murmuring his apologies. “Forgive me, kiddo. I just got so excited about Dawn. How long have you been hearing from her?”

Will hesitated, a look of fear in his eyes.

“It’s okay, I promise I won’t be mad.”

“Since before I was seven years old. She made me promise, Connor.” He pulled his brother closer, and whispered into his ear: “She’s still really mad at Dad.”

Angel seemed surprised. “Does Mom know you’ve been getting letters from Aunt Dawn?”

“Lotte and Hugh hide them when the mail comes in. Daddy, please don’t be mad,” Will begged. “I just want Aunt Dawn to come back, and-and maybe Buffy, and I just want them back. With us.”

Scooping the boy into his arms, Angel rocked him gently. “S’okay, kiddo. I’m not mad at anyone. I won’t even yell at Charlotte or Hugh. But you have to tell Mom about the letters. No more hiding, okay?”

“’kay, Dad. I’ll tell her when we get home,” Will sniffled. “Promise.”

Connor read the note. Apparently Dawn was back working for the Council and based in Italy. The letters went through Giles’ post office box, and he forwarded Will’s replies onto her. Only the last bit referred to him, and he ran his finger over the words again and again, trying to pull something more out of the simple words: _How is Connor doing these days? Is he okay? Is he happy?_

Maybe one day, she’d come back to him. To them all.


	22. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summer, 2014**

It was one of _those_ nights. Mom was locked up downstairs, snug as a werewolf in a steel cage. Will still had a hard time believing the little ‘facts of life’ speech his parents sat him down for last week. Everyone he knew at school got the penis and vagina monologues – he got the vampire and werewolf exposé.

Pfft! As if they’d actually had to tell him. He wasn’t a stupid kid. Mom always disappeared for three nights every month with different excuses… yet somehow came up from the basement in the morning. Not to mention he’d been aware of that cage in the basement since he was little.

Even so, he wondered what she looked like as a wolf. Would she be like one of those comic book mutants; all silver-haired and pretty? Or would she pace back and forth on all fours and howl at the ceiling, like the wolves at the zoo? Or maybe she’d be like Professor Lupin in Harry Potter, miserable and in pain.

Argh! He knew he should have asked more questions before Dad and Uncle Chuck left to hunt down some whozits in the whatnows. Since they were gonna be gone for a couple of days, his uncle dropped Alonna off with a duffle bag. “Three kids in the house was one too many when the Papa wasn’t home to play peacemaker,” he said.

“Hey, Will, this movie stinks,” Alonna called from across the room. “They’re kissing again. Why do they always close their eyes when they kiss?”

“Because it’s gross and disgusting?”

“If it’s so gross,” she countered, “why do they do it so much? And Mama and Papa are like glued together at the lips. Makes me feel funny.”

“Makes me want to heave. Looks awfully un-hy-gien-ic.”

“Un-who-now?”

“Silly baby,” Will snickered. “You know… like the health teacher’s always going on about not borrowing toothbrushes or already been chewed gum. And making you wash your hands when you finish using the toilet. Just dirty.”

Alonna wrinkled her nose at the imagery. “Ewwww… you said toilet.”

“What’s wrong with toilet? You have to go or something?”

“No, I don’t have to go,” she sneered back at him, sticking out her tongue. “And I’m not a baby. Don’t need you to tell me when I have to go.” She swatted him on the shoulder before tearing halfway across the room – daring him to run after her.

“I bet I know why they close their eyes when they kiss,” she taunted. “It’s ‘cause they’re ugly… just like you!”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

Will grabbed her by the arms and yanked her close, barely managing to land a teensy smooch on her lips before she pulled away. His tongue snaked out, tasting something coppery in his mouth. He must have gotten nicked on her braces.

“Yuck, girl lips,” he spat, quickly pushing her away.

Instead of laughing as she usually did when Will teased her, Alonna stopped and looked up at him with teary brown eyes and began to cry.

“Oh come on, Lonna-bean. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said as he moved to wipe the tears from her face. “You know I don’t even think of you as a girl.”

She cried harder, pushing him away this time.

“But it’s true. You’re my friend,” Will reasoned. “You play the games I like and you never invite me to a stupid tea party with your dolls. You know, yucky girly stuff.”

“But you still think I’m too ugly to kiss. Nobody would kiss a metal-mouth if they didn’t have to.”

_Oh God, she’s whining. And pouting._

“What’s your problem, ‘lonna? It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you ‘cause you’ve got railroad tracks on your teeth – which hurt, just letting you know. It’s ‘cause you’re a girl and girls have cooties. Everyone knows that.”

“But – but you just said I’m _not_ a girl.”

Will was ready to tear his hair out. “Don’t you start, beast,” he snarled playfully, grabbing at her as she attempted to run by. He kissed her again before the thought could completely gross him out. Even at eight and a half years old, she had him by _what was it that Connor always said?_ the short hairs, whatever they are.

“Okay,” he admitted, “that wasn’t so bad.”

Alonna snorted. “Wasn’t all that good, either. It always seems to last longer when they kiss in the movies,” she said; a touch of disappointment evident on her tear stained face.

“All right, smart mouth,” Will laughed, not upset in the least by her lack of praise. “Whattya say we make the evening interesting with a little bet?”

“What kind of bet? I don’t have to kiss you, do I?”

“Like I’d really want you to. No, silly. I bet we can get downstairs, sneak a peak at Mom, and get back before Lotte and Uncle Hugh can catch us.”

“Papa told me all about your mom. Isn’t it dangerous when she’s _like that?_ ”

“What’s the matter? You scared?”

“Uncle Angel said…”

“Gimme a break, Alonna. Dad says a lot of things.” Will pouted. “Besides, Mom’s all locked up. It’s not like she can get near us, right?”

“Do you think she’ll growl at us?” Alonna whispered, excitement shining in her eyes.

Will grinned, his own eyes sparkling. “She might.”

“Hold my hand?”

“Do I have to?” Will sighed in his best put upon voice.

“You can always go down by yourself, chicken butt.”

“Fine, then. I’ll hold your hand.”

They crept down the stairs as quiet as little mice, the only sounds to be heard were snuffling noises. Alonna’s grip tightened in Will’s as they cleared the stairwell and headed towards the steel cage.

Nina started to howl before they could see her, but neither one wanted to be the first to back off.

Alonna freaked. “Oh my God, Will! Your mom can smell us.” She tugged on his hand, hard. “Maybe we should just go back upstairs?”

Even as he trembled, Will said: “No, it’s okay. She’s just being growly. Ya know, wolf and all.”

He jumped back at her next howl, ready to run, himself, when they heard a metallic clang. The closer they got to the cage, the louder Nina growled. She was throwing herself against the bars hard enough to set them ringing.

“I quit,” Alonna cried. “You win the bet. I wanna go upstairs, now!”

“Me, first,” Will agreed. He grabbed her hand tightly as they turned to make their way back to the stairs and safety.

Just as the kids turned around, Nina gave one last violent lurch against the door and howled in triumph as it clanged open.

Alonna cried, her tears accompanied by the splash of urine on her shoes.

Will shook in fear. His mother was horrifying. Not quite a wolf or a woman, but huge and deformed. And very, very hairy.

He pushed Alonna ahead of him. He was older and that made it his responsibility to get her out of the basement in one piece. Will counted on her blind belief that he’d follow her up the stairs.

Desperate not to show how scared he was, he had to distract his mother; had to keep her away from Alonna and everyone upstairs until Uncle Hugh came looking for them. _Why aren’t you looking at the monitor, guys?_ Will was gonna insist they get an alarm for it in case the door ever opened again.

Just as the girl hit the top stair and slammed the door behind her, Nina lunged, knocking Will into a stack of wooden crates. He scrambled backwards on his hands and feet, petrified that his mother was going to eat him.

“Mom, please,” he cried. “It’s me, Will.”

Nina bared her fangs. Her nose twitched at the scent of blood dripping down William’s arm. She advanced slowly, snuffling around the piece of wood embedded in his upper arm before yanking it out with her teeth.

Will stood still, terrified, praying he wouldn’t piss himself, too. He was brave and strong, but his mother was one scary, hairy bitch at the moment.

“I’m a big bad an’ I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone,” he whispered under his breath, excessive adrenaline causing his body to shake. It wasn’t easy being a badass when your mother was slobbering over you in the shape of a giant werewolf.

She paused, whimpering high in her throat, and nuzzled into his neck.

“William! Don’t move,” Uncle Hugh called from the stairwell. “I’ve got a tranquelizer gun with me, and…”

“No! You can’t shoot Mom,” he cried, startling the werewolf into growling viciously at the approaching human.

“Will, she’s…”

Charlotte held up her hand, stopping her husband’s speech. She pulled out a large slab of bloodied red meat from a Tupperware container and threw it over by the cage.

He could sense his mother was torn between the fresh food and himself, and was very unhappy when she bit into his shirt collar, and pushed him in the direction of her meal. Will’s small yelp alarmed Hugh.

“Oh, dear Lord. Tell me she hasn’t bitten you, boy.”

“I’m fine, Uncle,” Will grunted as Nina pushed him hard onto the floor.

She tore off small slivers of meat with her fangs and held them out to the boy. When he didn’t reach for them, Nina shoved a piece in the startled child’s mouth. Will gagged, but couldn’t help chewing on the flesh, blood running down over his chin as he looked to his uncle for help. He flinched as the gun fired, and cried out when Nina whimpered and fell beside him, panting as her eyes glazed over and she slid into unconsciousness.

Will remained frozen to the spot. He was torn between wanting to run to safety and making sure his mom was okay.

 

Charlotte couldn’t help but remember their first trip to the zoo, and Will’s tranced out reaction to the feeding lions. Only this time, his lips were coated with actual blood.

After Hugh secured Nina behind bars once again, he went upstairs to stay with Alonna and Bethany.

It took quite a bit of soothing for Will to come back to himself enough to stand on wobbly legs. Charlotte wiped the blood off of his face and hands as best she could and staunched the blood flow from the scrape on Will’s arm, but that was going to require some thorough cleaning upstairs.

***

“You’re a real dope, Will,” Alonna hissed across the lunchroom table. She couldn’t take her eyes off the large white bandage he insisted on tugging.

“It hurts, ‘lonna. It wouldn’t kill you to have a little pity on me.” Will tried to pull his sleeve over the bandage, but the edge chafed against the widest part of the wound.

“Well, it was a stupid bet, William Dowell. I’m never gonna listen to you again.”

Hearing the first warning bell, they headed out the cafeteria doors with the rest of the students.

“How was I supposed to know the lock wouldn’t hold?”

“Boys are just stupid,” she exclaimed “From now on, I’m only gonna listen to myself. Your mother could have killed you,” Alonna whispered, sotto voce. “I didn’t think your arm would ever stop bleeding. The whole bathroom was covered in it.”

“Now you’re making up stories, brat. You know she didn’t mean to hurt me.” Suddenly aware that they were drawing an audience, Will maneuvered Alonna towards a bank of lockers and lowered his voice. “Besides, it was my own fault I fell into those crates. I should have been more aware.”

At the sound of the second bell, they said their hasty goodbyes, promising to meet up for the ride home with Hugh.

 

As soon as the children were out of sight, Mrs. Danvers stuck her head back inside her classroom and pulled out her cellphone.

“Principal Berenson’s office, please.” She waited impatiently for the secretary to get her boss on the phone. “Marcus? It’s Trish. I think we have a parental abuse case on our hands. It’s the Dowell boy. He’s sporting several bruises on his arms, as well as a large bandage towards the shoulder.”

“I’ll deal with it, Trish.” He listened for a few more moments, and then pulled two cards out of his Rolodex. One, for Social Services, and the other, an international call placed to one Nathan Chalmers.


	23. Torn Asunder

Alonna came through the school’s double doors, alone. “Hey, Uncle Hugh!”

“Have you seen Will?” they asked at the same time.

“Isn’t he here yet?” the little girl asked. “Tommy said they called him out of class for a visit to the nurses’ office, but that wouldn’t take all afternoon, would it?”

“How long ago do you think he was called?” Hugh wondered if they should wait where they were.

“Um… I know it was after lunch, ‘cause we sat together.” Alonna nibbled at a ragged cuticle, brow creased in thought. “And it had to be after gym, ‘cause he was there for baseball practice.”

Hugh had a moment of panic. _Did the boy re-injure his arm?_ “Did this Tommy mention Will needing stitches? If it were serious, shouldn’t they have called the house number they have on emergency file?”

Alonna nodded her head in agreement. “They won’t even let you have an ibuprofen without calling your parents.”

“All right then.” Hugh took her by the hand and walked towards the building. “I think it’s time we get some answers. Let’s go see the nurse.”

They walked through the school to the nurses’ station. To Hugh’s surprise, two armed policemen stood guard outside the door.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Hugh approached the guard on the left. “I’m here to pick up William Dowell. I was told he’d been sent to the nurse earlier, and I’m concerned that he’s not been released as of yet.”

“And you are?” asked Guard One. The officer stared at him as if he were a known child molester.

“I-I’m a long-time friend of the family, Sir. My wife and daughter live with the boy and his parents, and I’m on the school’s approved list to pick the lad up. Now I must insist you tell me if he’s all right, and let me in to see him.”

“Nobody’s seeing the boy, Mister Old Time Friend,” Guard Two sneered. “Not until you’ve been cleared by Social Services.”

Hugh was affronted. “Now see here! This hostility is unnecessary and totally unwarranted. I’ve picked that boy up from school every day for the past four years, along with his friend, here. What happened to William that you’re not telling me? Did something happen on school grounds that I should be concerned about? That I need to call his parents about? He was in perfectly fine spirits when he left home today.”

“Perfectly fine?” Guard One looked incredulous. “Mister, didn’t you notice the boy was covered in bruises? Not to mention that poorly concealed gash on his arm?”

“William had a slight accident in the basement last night,” Hugh allowed, stiffly. “He fell into a pile of wooden packing crates. Look, my good man, I understand he looks a tad poorly. All you have to do is ask the child what happened and he’ll tell you the truth. Will is not known to lie.”

“We’ve seen cases like this before.” Guard Two waved an accusatory finger in Hugh’s general direction. “Who knows what’s really going on in a kid’s home? Maybe the father lashed out after a hard day at work. Maybe the mother is a closet drunk and pushed the kid down the stairs. Nothing would surprise us these days.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Dowell would _never_ hurt Will!” Alonna yelled.

“Or maybe,” Guard One mused. “Maybe that bruising happened because a perverted uncle didn’t like getting his advances turned down.”

Hugh felt his gorge rise. “Now you’ve gone too far, you sanctimonious…”

Alonna kicked the guard closest to her. “You… you… creep!” she shouted, raising her little fists as if to do battle.

The little girl’s stance seemed to amuse the guards, but they stood their ground. Both sides were at an impasse. Hugh’s fists were opening and closing at his side in frustration when the door finally opened.

“Hello, Hugh. I thought I heard your charming voice,” Nathaniel Chalmers greeted his younger sibling. “You can go now,” he said, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand.

“Nathaniel.” Hugh’s voice was cold and harsh. “I should have known you’d be involved in this.” He turned to Alonna, going down on one knee to make eye contact. “Don’t worry, pet. This is my brother. Apparently we have some family matter to take care of. Why don’t you go to the main office and have someone call your mum. Make sure you wait there until she picks you up, understood?”

“But… I want to see Will.”

“You’ll see him later, at home. Go now,” Hugh insisted. “Heed me, child. Do not leave the building with anyone else.” He watched until she turned the corner at the end of the corridor before turning back to Nate.

“All right, Nathaniel. I demand to see William. The extremity of this action in calling you all the way from home has me more than concerned for his well-being.”

“Young Master William is in good hands,” said the distinguished looking gentleman who’d suddenly appeared at Nate’s side. “And no longer any concern of yours.”

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Hugh seemed to collapse in on himself at the sight of Roger Wyndam-Pryce. This was bad. Very, very bad, he thought to himself. Pryce wasn’t just a Watcher. He was often considered the strongest proponent for the more conservative streak at the Council now that Rupert Giles was at its head. He was hard, ruthless and had proven his mettle in literally thousands of verbal battles throughout Quentin Travers’ tenure.

And he hated Angel with every breath in his body.

Hugh had respected the man at one time, until he’d seen the manner in which Pryce regarded the Slayers. Like tools, he thought them. Weapons to be used and discarded at the slightest provocation or inferred fault.

The man had forged his son in the same mold, and when the younger Pryce found it impossible to live up to his old man’s expectations, had been thrown away like a piece of refuse.

“There is no way you’ll be allowed to see the boy, Mr. Chalmers.” Roger Wyndam-Pryce’s imperious tone announced. “We’ve brought papers from the British Consulate regarding my son’s long lost heir. Since Wesley had been co-opted by Mr. Dowell, and turned from his family, we’ve been keeping tabs on the bloodsucker. As Will’s natural grandfather, my rights supercede all others and he’s coming home with me, immediately. There is nothing you can do to prevent our flight this very evening.”

 _“Your_ son’s heir?” Hugh gasped, unable to comprehend the bald faced lie being told. “Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, William is the legally adopted son of Angel and Nina Dowell.”

“No, Sir!” the man countered, hotly. “Indeed he is not. William is the natural born son of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and that harlot he’d taken up with – Lilah Morgan. The British Consulate has provided the appropriate paperwork and legitimate blood work to stake their claim.”

“That’s impossible.” It was all Hugh had to counter with. Knowing quite well that William had existed long before Wyndam-Pryce the younger had been a twinkle in his father’s eye. Hell, Before Wyndam-Pryce senior was a twinkle in his own father’s eyes, yet it was hardly a subject that could be brought up during conversation in a mixed environment. How could he bring into evidence that barely ten years ago, William Matthew Jamison Pratt had been a one hundred and twenty five some odd year old vampire?

Nate just stood his ground, looking smug. Hugh had nowhere to go even with the truth on his side.

“You’ll do well to remember, Mr. Chalmers, that the Wyndam-Pryce name carries a great deal of respect and power behind it in our respective circles, and we’ll be informing both the police and the people who’ve been looking after the boy of his new living arrangements.”

“Surely you’ll allow the child to go home and say goodbye to his parents. Even you can’t be that cruel, Sir.”

“We have a flight to catch, and much to do before departure,” he said calmly, “and there’ll be no need to send for the lad’s things. He’ll not want for anything with his proper family.”

Hugh tried a final time to get through to the pompous bastard. “You can’t just do this… take a boy from his home – the only home he’s known for ten years. It’s wrong, Sir.”

“Right or wrong is irrelevant, Mr. Chalmers. The boy belongs with his blood family, and we are rectifying a long standing lie. We suggest you head on home to your employer and fill him in on the situation as it stands.”

“You won’t get away with this – I’ll personally see to it if it’s the last thing I do.” Hugh took a menacing step towards the old man, but was restrained by Nate.

“Don’t you see, little brother? We already have.”

Hugh couldn’t restrain himself. He hauled back and punched Nate as hard as he could, connecting solidly with his jaw. Not a physical man to begin with, the resulting punch seemed to cause more damage to his fist than his brother’s face.

“Ah, poor Hugh. I didn’t want it to go down this way, but you’ve left me no choice.” Nate pulled out a sleek silver cell phone and called in an assault charge.

Seemingly within moments, Hugh was escorted out of the school by armed policemen..

 

Nathaniel Chalmers’ demeanor seemed to fold in on itself just the slightest bit. He took no great joy in hurting his brother, but neither was he adverse to using pain as a motivator. Maybe now Hugh would see that he’d joined the wrong side; that working and living with the vampire had been a corrupting influence.

With any luck, he’d pack up his wife and daughter and move back to England; back in the bosom of his family. Surely he’d accept some lesser post with the Council. The Chalmers would once more close ranks. Maybe, just maybe, they could make a run for a covetous lead seat on the Council, proper.

He drew himself up to his fully imposing height and followed Roger Wyndam-Pryce to collect the boy.

***

Will shifted in his seat, his butt having gone numb ages ago. He was hungry and thirsty, but the snack brought in by the guidance counselor was unappealing – browning apple slices and fruit juice with something pulpy floating on the surface. He shuddered and pushed the tray to another desk.

Ms. Larson sat at her desk, going through a stack of student folders. Will had nothing more to say to the woman. Not since she’d placed an anatomically correct male doll in front of him and explained what she wanted him to do with it.

He couldn’t understand why they kept asking him if Mom or Dad touched him in bad places. And when he said no each and every time, they shoved that doll in front of him. He was ten years old! If he’d been abused, he’d certainly be able to tell the counselor about it.

_Shit! God damned shit, piss, hell and damn._

Even cursing to himself made Will flinch. Mom hated it when he used ‘vulgarities,’ but the words fit his mood. He knew his body looked pretty disgusting – black and blue and green from where he’d fallen into those crates, and his arm throbbed from having a hunk of wood in it. But he was fine. And he wanted to go home.

_Where are Alonna and Uncle Hugh?_

This whole thing was stupid.

When the door opened, Will practically cried with relief until he recognized the man.

“Hello, William. It’s good to see you again.”

“Where’s Uncle Hugh, and why are you here instead? I wanna go home.”

“It’s all right, boy. We’ll take you home.”

Will looked at the old man standing next to his uncle. He sounded okay, but his smile… that stopped at his lips. The look in his eyes scared him, and he looked to his uncle for reassurance.

“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Roger Wyndam-Pryce. Your grandfather.”

“No. He’s not your dad,” Will insisted. “Lotte and Uncle Hugh showed me pictures of Grandpa Andrew, and that ain’t him.”

“Bright lad,” Mr. Wyndam-Pryce noted. “Excuse me, Miss… Larson, is it? May we have some time alone with the boy? It’s going to be difficult enough for him to accept, and I think it best if we have some privacy.”

Ms. Larson nodded and stepped into her inner office, closing the door.

 _Shit again. This wasn’t good._ William didn’t like this at all. He barely knew Nathaniel Chalmers, and these two men together scared the hell out of him.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce held William’s backpack with the tips of his fingers; distaste dripping from his expression.

“Hey, Mister! That’s my stuff,” William shouted, rising from his seat as the man rooted around in the bag.

“Sit down and be silent, boy,” the older man commanded. “What is this?” he asked, holding up the raggedy Paddington bear. “Surely a child your age has no need of a teddy,” he sighed, tossing the stuffed animal into the trash. “You don’t need it, nor any of this nonsense,” he said, dumping the remainder of the bag’s contents.

“You’ll be given everything you need once we arrive back at the Council.”

William was horrified. Council? “I’m not going. I’m won’t go anywhere with you. My Dad…”

“That vampire will be dusted on sight if he tries to prevent our departure.” Mr.Wyndam-Pryce’s voice was chillingly calm. 

“Uncle Nate… please!,” William begged, desperate for help from any sector. “I want to go home. I want my Dad and Mom.” His tears fell silently.

“I’m sorry, William. This is the way it has to be.” Nathaniel took hold of his hand tightly enough to hurt. “We can do this one of two ways, son. Either you come along willingly, or we’ll drug you and carry you out in a duffle.”

He opened his coat, revealing a folded bag, proving his intention.

At the mercy of his uncle and the older man, William followed where he was led; out of the guidance counselor’s office; out of the school building, and into a black limousine that had been parked in front of the school.

***

Angel stood on the runway of the small, private airfield; head bowed. After Hugh’s frantic call to Gunn’s cell phone, alerting him to his whereabouts and the problem with William being detained, a quick call to the school referred Angel to the police station. Hugh was allowed to fill him in on the arrival of Nathaniel and Roger Wyndam-Pryce and their agenda. He’d driven at breakneck speed straight to the field.

He’d been too late by moments, arriving just in time to see the tail lights of the plane bank and disappear.

His howl of despair would have done any wolf proud.

He put up no resistance when he was approached by policemen and taken to the station for questioning in regards to his assuming parental responsibilities for a minor child not his own, and possible reckless endangerment and abuse of the same child.


	24. The Unfriendly Skies

William trudged up the boarding gantry to the plane, fighting back tears. No way was he gonna let them see how very scared he was. A quick look around the interior found two large recliner-type leather chairs. He threw himself into the nearest seat, legs spread to take up the maximum amount of space.

“You’re not really my grandfather, are you,” he snarled at the man he’d begun to think of as Thing One; his false bravado dripping from each and every word.

“Get out of that chair, boy,” the old man spat, slapping at one of Will’s legs. “Out of that chair at once, I say.”

“Really, Roger… is it necessary to be so rough in handling him?”

Will snorted in response. “Guess that answers my question, you meany,” he mumbled, stumbling to his feet.

“I want that creature out of my sight, Nathaniel.”

 _Geeze, what’s his damage?_ Will allowed himself to be propelled to the back of the plane by Thing Two, once known as Uncle Nate, until he saw the metal bars surrounding a small cot.

“You’re gonna stick me in a cage?” he squawked, his bravery having fled. The enclosed area was just large enough for the cot and a small table. “Uncle Nate, what did I do? Please, don’t do this to me.”

“Be quiet, lad.”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry. Really, really sorry,” Will babbled, getting more frightened by the moment. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ll-I’ll do anything you want if you don’t make me go in there.”

“Nathaniel!” Thing One thundered. “I’m warning you… either shut the little beast up, or knock him out. We have an enormous amount of material to get through before we arrive back at the Council.”

Uncaring of what it made him look like, Will got down on his knees, trying desperately to pull his arm out of the older man’s grasp. “I’ll be good, I swear it,” he cried, eyes going wide with fright. He’d always hated cages. He couldn’t even stand to see the animals in zoos held behind bars.

Firmly, Thing Two pulled the resisting child into the enclosure and sat him down on the bed. “There’s no other way about this, lad. Make things easier on yourself and fall asleep. When you awaken, the trip will be over and I’ll let you out.”

“I just wanna go home, Uncle Nate. I want my mommy. Please!” Will added as an afterthought, hoping manners would make the difference.

“This is your last chance to be quiet on your own, child,” Thing Two’s voice softened the slightest but. “If you cannot hold your tongue,” he said, dragging a syringe filled with a pale blue liquid out of his pocket, “I’ll have to drug you.”

Without another sound, William crawled onto the cot, drawing the thin blanket over his shivering body. He wished he’d been allowed to bring a sweater. It was freezing in the back of the plane. Will tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the lumpy cot, but it wasn’t happening. They wanted him to fall asleep, and yet they wouldn’t turn off the lights in the cabin. It wasn’t fair. He was just a kid. What did he ever to do them?

It had been hours since he’d eaten, and his stomach was making growly noises. And to make things worse, if he didn’t warm up soon, he’d have to pee.

“Uncle Nate,” he called out as quietly as he could, not wanting to piss off Thing One… too much. “Can I have something to read? Or eat? And… and what happens if I need to use the bathroom?”

“I’ll come back in an hour with something for dinner, then let you out to use the loo. Try and sleep until then. And William, do not call me Uncle again. We are not related in any way.”

Will snapped. “What am I supposed to call you, then? Creep? That’s what you call a person who locks little kids up in cages. They taught us all about sickos like you… perverts!”

“Be quiet!” Thing Two stormed out of the little enclosure, slamming the door shut behind him.

Using the only thing left to him in his arsenal, Will broke down in tears. Great big shoulder wracking sobs that left him coughing as his throat clogged.

Nathaniel stood outside the enclosure impassively watching his captive. When the boy’s sobbing had slowed to sniffles, he returned to the front of the plane.

If looks could kill, Thing One would have had Thing Two’s head on a platter. The old goat handed over a bottle of something and turned his attention back to the papers before him.

His not-uncle returned to stand in front of the cage. “You will call me, as well as Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, ‘Sir’. I know either the vampire or your mother taught you some manners.” Thing Two unlocked the cell door and dragged William into the small bathroom. “Now, wash up and stop your crying. You’ll only make things harder on yourself in the long run.”

“Yes, Sir!” Will spat, with as much insincerity as he could manage. “Anything you say, Sir!” With a small salute, he turned to splash some cold water on his face.

“While you’re here, you might as well use the loo. This will be your last chance for quite awhile.”

“Do you have to watch me? Are you as big a perv as I thought?”

Nathaniel left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. When the toilet flushed, he peeked his head into the bathroom. “Make sure you rewash your hands, then it’s time for dinner.” He didn’t even bother trying to hide the narcotics bottle as he moved Will’s dinner from the kitchen area to the little table in his cell.

William tore into the baloney sandwich as if it were the finest steak. Bottled apple juice completed his feast. He leant against the wall of the cabin, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place. It had his full attention for the moment.

“Our next step should be the retrieval of the Slayer,” Mr. Wyndam-Pryce insisted. “How that fool Giles could have left her in the vampire’s care for all these years is beyond me. The progress, if you can call it that in freeing her from the statue is minimal. There have only been two recorded attempts, yes?”

“That is true. Two sets of spells have been performed. The original effort was made in 2005, and stopped because of the effect it was having on the baby. At the time, their well-being appeared to be linked.”

”So, even as an infant, that demon’s spawn was causing trouble. If it weren’t for him, we’d have had Buffy Summers back under the aegis of the Council.”

 _Blah, blah, blah, that old man could talk._ Rubbing at his head, William felt the first effects of the drugs in his system. He’d seen the bottle when Thing Two made his dinner, but he was so hungry. Besides, he reasoned, if they had wanted him dead, they wouldn’t be going through all this trouble to take him away from home.

The voices were growing indistinct and his body felt fuzzy, but William tried to hold on. The conversation was about him, and it might be important to his survival later on if he knew everything they were blaming him for.

More talk about Grandpa Giles… something about him not being a problem anymore. And Aunt Willow being away for years? A year? He was finding it harder to concentrate as the men droned on and on.

“You do know the vampire will try and call the Council about his son’s disappearance,” Nate the Traitor said. “Is the protocol in place for handling the creature?”

Thing One laughed. Or barked… Will was having a hard time telling the difference now.

“Have no worries, Nathaniel. He’ll only call Rupert, who, in his ineffectual state, might not even bother to answer the phone.”

“But what about Lydia? Surely my sister will…”

 _It’s like listening to a tennis match._ Will slid slowly down the cabin wall, unable to sit upright.

“Do not believe for a single moment that we are in the wrong here, Chalmers. William the Bloody was one of the most despicable monsters that ever roamed the face of the earth. There is no reason to assume that things have changed because the creature is now masquerading as a human child.”

 _Huh?_ All he’d heard was his name and monster in the same sentence. He was ten years old. He went to school. Kept his room clean and listened to his parents. Why would that creep think he was a monster? 

“It’s all masks and fog,” Thing One continued. “Using innocence as a disguise. It only proves my point about the evil inherent in it.”

Thing Two had an answer, of course, as Will’s head began to rock back and forth. He was losing ground here, he realized. Just a little longer, maybe… if he really tried.

“Well, at the very least he’s now under our influence. I wish there had been another way, however. Again, going against my brother was more unsettling than I’d thought.”

“Your brother is a fool,” Thing One said angrily. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel… a disgrace… Watcher line. Hugh was too weak… and still is. It’s the flaw… allowed the vampire to… thrall.”

“And the boy’s mother?”

“What kind of woman… sleeping with a vampire… another demon whore…”

An involuntary sob escaped Will’s lips at the slur against his mother. He’d already lost most of his concentration and his consciousness was fading. All he knew for sure was he wanted his mommy and daddy. He wanted to be safe in his own bed with Paddy bear. Wanted Bethany and Lotte… Hugh and… Alonna. He wanted to go home – the last thought he had before everything went black.


	25. Welcome to the Fishbowl

Lydia closed her eyes, summoning the resources she would need to walk from one of the Council’s downstairs libraries to the main floor dining room. It had taken her more than ten years to regain limited use of her legs, and thoughts of having to unearth her wheelchair from storage gave her the strength to deal with a little pain and weakness.

However, she wasn’t too proud to accept help from one of her favorite interns when it was offered. Young Cunningham would tail her all day long if allowed, carrying her laptop and bookbag. She seemed to be in awe of one of the survivors of the Council explosion in 2002.

“Did you hear, Ms. Chalmers? Do you know what’s going on upstairs?” Gayle whispered. “There’s been rumblings all afternoon.”

“Rumblings?” Lydia asked with as much patience as she could muster. It wouldn’t do to act like a newly appointed intern; all wide-eyed and excited no matter how curious she was herself.

Gayle toned her excitement down a notch or two. “Well, sure,” she allowed. “What with you being so high ranking an’ all. I mean, Assistant to the Head of the Council proper!”

“Honestly, Ms. Cunningham. You know as well as I that my… appointment was merely figurative in nature.”

“You think you’re here because of nepotism? That you don’t deserve your post?” The young intern was horrified. She looked up to Lydia Chalmers as a role model, with respect for all that she’d accomplished in a relatively short time before the bomb blast. “I’ve read your thesis, you know, and the addendums.”

She blushed under her mentor’s scrutiny. “I still can’t believe you got to meet the vampire in your thesis face to face.” The unspoken _and lived to tell about it_ hung in the air.

”Ah, yes.” Lydia smiled, picturing the cadre of Watchers holding up crosses and crossbows as they asked the smiling vampire their questions regarding Ms. Summers. She remembered his pretty blue eyes that sparkled with amusement, then worry, about the answers he gave. Imagine that, a soulless creature trying to protect the Chosen One. But, that’s what’d made _her_ vampire special. “It was something I won’t ever forget,” she sighed, knowing he no longer roamed the earth.

“I’m aware that I’ve more than earned my position with blood and tears. But with Mr. Giles’ current… condition, it’s hardly the seat of prestige it should be. It was meant as a panacea for my boredom more than to enhance my knowledge. It’s also simple enough a cripple can handle it without difficulty.”

Anger flashed in the younger woman’s eyes. “Mr. Giles might not be the most, well… visible Council leader at the moment, but he’s had a dreadful hard time coming to terms with the loss of his Slayer. I’m sure he appreciates all you do for him.”

“I’m sure he does, Gayle,” Lydia soothed the neophyte’s ruffled feathers. _Was I ever so young? So loyal? Once upon a time, before the real world intruded, perhaps._ She leant against the wall to catch her breath. Anything other than very short distances still winded her.

“Are you all right, Ms. Chalmers? Should I fetch a chair?”

“Just a moment’s rest, girl. Were I a horse, they’d have shot me years ago.”

When they resumed their trek, Gayle’s banter turned back to the mystery of the day.

“The hot rumor going around is the bigwigs are bringing a dangerous demon back here. They’re going to contain it in one of the basement cells.”

“They’re bringing it here? Why?” Their best containment cells were in Hampton. Not to mention the smaller on-site housing facilities. They’d risk far fewer deaths if the demon managed to escape.

“Well, I think it’s a pet project of Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” Gayle whispered, obviously not wanting anyone to hear the information from her lips.

Lydia rolled her eyes. What stunt would that obnoxious man think of next? Was it wrong for her to feel a twinge of pity for the demon caught in his clutches?

She breathed a sigh of relief as they finally reached the dining room. Lydia made herself comfortable whilst Gayle picked up a couple of sandwiches and bottled water. Midway through their meal, a call went out amongst the dining Watchers, many of whom gathered at the window overlooking the loading bay. What else was there to do but join the throng?

A convoy appeared, led by a dark armored van. It was flanked by three armored cars on each side.

“I can’t believe they’re already here.” Gayle’s eyes sparkled with the excitement only newly appointed Watchers experienced. “Why don’t we make our way downstairs and see for ourselves what all the fuss is about?”

Lydia couldn’t help herself. Her companion’s enthusiasm was infectious. “What do you think they have with them? It must be massively powerful for them to have an escort like that.”

A quick trip in a nearby elevator had Gayle and Lydia right by the scene of the action. A standing guard aimed crossbows as one of the Council’s resident mages muttered a few indistinguishable words, and the warded doors opened.

Surrounded by additional guards and medical staff, a small gurney was wheeled directly into the building from the armored van. Nathaniel Chalmers took point, leading the way down a back ramp. 

From the way everyone strained to see above the guarded demon, it must not have been very big. Perhaps it was dangerously strong.

As they passed in front of Lydia, she noted her brother’s stony expression and the creature they were so fiercely guarding – a little boy, strapped down across his ankles, thighs, waist, chest and neck.

Lydia could barely restrain her cry of indignation. _Dear Lord! That’s William Dowell. Hugh had sent her enough pictures of the child to identify him by sight. What was the Council doing with Spike’s son?_

She ignored the burning pain in her legs and lower back and pushed forward, closely followed by her favorite shadow. Occasionally steadying herself by holding onto the wall, she neared the knot of people surrounding the boy.

“Nathaniel,” Lydia called out. Perhaps he’d give her some explanation for this travesty.

He favored her with a small smile before turning his attention back to the journey.

Lydia was determined to follow the entourage. Her brother didn’t out and out forbid it, which she took as an encouraging sign. At the child’s feet, however, to the left of the gurney, was the head behind the expedition: Roger Wyndam-Pryce, himself. His attention was focused solely on William Dowell.

She found herself unable to withhold a flinch at the look of pure hatred on the man’s face. If someone told her one of the two individuals present was a demon, the child would not have been her first choice. Or second.

It almost made her yearn for the old days under Quentin Travers. He might have been harsh and unrelenting, but he never allowed his emotions to rule his actions. The man was too much of a professional for his choices to be anything but.

Quentin had made no bones about hating the souled vampire, nor would he trust William the Bloody further than he could wield a stake when he started to help Ms. Summers… but he never went about it sideways.

Wyndam-Pryce, on the other hand, was driven by his fury at Angel for very personal reasons unrelated to his vampiric status. It was known throughout the Council that he considered his late son Wesley, a failure. Worse, an embarrassment for working with the vampire he despised. His death under Angel’s watch did nothing to ease his vitriol.

Looking at little William restrained and unconscious, she’d say he’d finally found a way to make the vampire pay.

So lost in her thoughts, Lydia hadn’t realized she’d come to a stop until Gayle crashed into her from behind, almost toppling the already shaky Watcher.

“Be careful, Ms. Cunningham. We don’t dare draw any further attention to ourselves.”

“But…”

“Hush, please.”

They inched forward slowly as the guards stood aside and the restraints were released. One of the medics carried the boy inside the little suite of rooms as the guards dispersed, leaving him alone with Nathaniel and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.

Lydia was familiar with their layout. There were many such cells throughout the sub-basements, though they were usually reserved for visiting Watchers needing security for their sensitive research. She could see into the livingroom from her vantage point across the corridor.

The medic took several quick readings – blood pressure and heart rate, before pronouncing him fit and scurried out the door. He seemed most anxious to get away from the Council Elders.

She continued to stare as her brother methodically stripped William of his clothing, and replaced it with Council issue sweats under his Elder’s intense scrutiny. He tossed the child’s own clothing into a trash bag and left it near the door.

They didn’t even bother taking the boy to the bedroom. Wyndam-Pryce left first, followed by Nate with the bag of clothes. Her brother stood outside the door repeating a few words in what sounded like Ancient Sumerian and tossed a handful of powder at the threshold, which flashed.

_What the bloody hell would they need to do a barrier spell for? Surely a locked door is sufficient against a ten year old._

As soon as the door was locked and the men were gone, Lydia and Gayle crossed the corridor and looked in on William as he slept.

“This is the demon that had the entire Council in an uproar? He’s adorable,” the younger woman gushed. “I could just pick him up and squeeze him.”

“Ordinarily, Ms. Cunningham, I’d warn you that looks can be deceiving, and it’s highly possible that sweet young thing is indeed a vampire,” Lydia lectured. “However, I want you to look at this,” she said, pulling her wallet out of her backpack. “See that man holding the little boy? That’s my brother, Hugh. The child is a miracle – fathered by my vampire of choice, and adopted by his closest vampire relation. He’s human. One hundred percent human.”

“Then why…”

“We’re about to try and find out, my dear.” Giving one last glance to the sleeping William, Lydia pulled out her cell phone and punched in Hugh’s number.

***

 _No bars._ It was the first thing Will noted upon opening his eyes. He also felt rather nauseous as he sat up. Hastily, he searched the little room for something to throw up in, and finding nothing got off the… couch, and quickly located the bathroom.

He leant over the toilet just in case, but the urge to upchuck disappeared as he became more alert. Which led to the realization of another urgent need, as he lowered his hands to his fly… or apparently where his fly used to be. 

_These aren’t my clothes,_ he thought, dropping the sweats and relieving himself. Not that it really mattered, Will supposed. It could have been worse. They could have left him naked.

The door was locked, of course. Will couldn’t resist trying it from time to time, hoping that maybe _this_ time it would give and he’d be free, and when it didn’t, his natural curiosity led him to explore his new space.

It was eight steps from the door to the couch he’d woken up on. Ten steps to the right brought him to a tiny kitchen. There was a fridge; empty; a small table with two chairs; no stove, and a sink. Back to the couch, then. On one side of the door stood a bookcase filled with dusty old books about demons. The other side had a desk.

Heading down the little hallway to the left of the couch brought him to the bathroom – 12 steps. Now that he was alert he noticed a shower stall, no tub, and a sink with a mirror above it. Several steps before the bathroom was a bedroom. It held a bed. It was a room. Pretty unexciting. Oh! And a small closet.

And no windows anywhere. There might not be bars, but he knew he was just as stuck here as he was on that plane. A prisoner of Thing One and Thing Two.

Grand tour over, Will sat on the bed, trying to take his mind off of his stomach. Mom always said he’d be able to eat them out of house and home with the world collapsing around their ears. 

_Mom… Dad!_

Will burrowed under the blanket and sniffled into his pillow. Boy oh boy, did he miss Paddy. He still didn’t understand anything that had happened to him. This morning he’d left for school, same as every other day. This evening… or he guessed it was so…he was stuck in another country. Why had they taken him? What the hell did they want from him?

There was nothing else he could do. No television, of course. Best just to sleep and try not to blubber like a baby. With any luck at all he’d at least dream of being home.

Just as things started to get hazy, and peace seemed within his reach, he heard someone at the door. What were they gonna do to him now? Maybe, just maybe… it was Mom or Dad coming to rescue him.

Looking up, Will saw the dark figure of Thing One outlined against his doorway. He froze, unsure as to what was expected of him. Should he get up and be respectful or stay down and pretend to sleep? Which of the two would be less likely to get him in trouble? Somehow, he didn’t think anything he did would matter.

“G’way,” he mumbled and pulled the comforter over his head.

“Don’t presume you can give me orders, beast.” The man’s voice rumbled throughout the little room.

Throwing off his covers, Will jumped out of bed with his fists raised, ready to defend himself to the best of his abilities if he had to. He wouldn’t just lie there… he wouldn’t.

“What do you want, Mister? I don’t know who you are. I’ve never seen you before. Maybe you stole the wrong kid?” he asked, hopefully.

“No, boy,” Thing One rumbled again. “We have exactly the demon we were after. But then you’d want us to go after someone else, wouldn’t you? Let someone else suffer for your crimes?”

Will squeaked. “No! I didn’t say that.” He could tell that the man wasn’t listening to him at all.

“Do you know what true fear is, William? To a vampire, it’s better than the finest wine.”

“That’s not true. Dad says fear smells bad.”

“He’s not your father, you know. Vampires cannot have children. They make childer… by draining the life from their victims and having them gorge on their dead blood. The demons murder innocent human beings to sustain their foul existence.”

“Angel is too my dad,” Will insisted. “And Dad doesn’t kill people. He’s a good vampire.”

“There is no such thing as a good vampire, and you’d be well off remembering that. They are all demons. Demons by their very nature are unclean, soulless creatures bent on destroying humanity.” The man paused in his diatribe, circling the child before him.

“Angelus was the worst example. He killed for pleasure and tortured his victims. Drove them mad. He relished their fear, drinking down the last of their tainted life’s blood as they lay terrified in his arms.” 

“You don’t know him at all! My Dad likes hockey. He likes drawing and… and going out dancing with Mom. He watches old movies and sings Barry Manilow songs in the shower.” On the verge of tears, Will dashed his hands against his eyes. “My Dad eats chocolate cake and drinks blood from the butcher. From animals that are already dead for people to eat. Why are you lying to me?”

Grabbing William unexpectedly by the throat, Roger Wyndam-Pryce shoved him against the wall. _“You_ are the lie, boy. You think you were born ten years ago? You were born in 1855. In this very city of London, for that matter.”

Will gasped, trying to claw the man’s fingers away from his already bruised neck.

“You became recorded history’s second most evil vampire, next to that thing you call a father. “You liked causing pain and fear. They called you ‘William the Bloody’ because of your penchant for sticking railroad spikes through your victims’ heads before you drained them.” Each exclamation was punctuated by another shove into the wall. “They knew fear, boy. At your hands.”

“Not true!” Will croaked. “Not…”

Thing One shook him a final time, tightening the grip of his fingers before finally releasing the choking child, letting him fall onto the bed.

Will’s fingers fluttered to his throat, gasping for breath, as he watched the man pull something rectangular out of his pocket.

“W-what’s that?” he asked, edging back against the wall as Thing One loomed closer. As light struck the object, Will saw a small bladed knife brought closer to his face.

“Do you know fear now, William?”

Backed up against the wall, there was nowhere for the boy to hide. “Yes,” he screeched. “Yes, I’m scared. Very, scared, okay? Keep it away… away from me, please.”

“Again you presume to tell me what to do,” the old man sighed, looking at the blade with fond amusement. “As arrogant a child as you ever were as a vampire, William.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“You hide behind a false face, boy. I’m just going to make sure that in the future, people will see you coming… will know exactly who you are, as I do.” He lashed out faster than Will could predict, flicking the blade once, twice towards his eye.

He was in too much shock to do more than watch as blood dripped onto his white sheet.

In silence, Will found himself being dragged unresisting towards the bathroom. For an odd moment, he wondered if they were looking for a first aid kit, but then thought the better of it.

Detaching the spray nozzle from the shower, Thing One bent Will over the sink and drenched his hair. Pinkish swirls of blood washed down the drain as he struggled to stand upright.

“Keep still, monster,” the man hissed. “It will go worse for you if you continue to struggle. Hold position over the sink.”

Will watched peripherally as Thing One donned a pair of latex gloves and took out a squeeze bottle of some purple stuff from a jacket pocket. He said nothing as it was squeezed onto and rubbed into his hair.

Until the burning began.

Will screamed in agony. Whatever he’d rubbed into his hair had seeped into the cut over his eye and he felt like his scalp was on fire.

“Get it offa me,” he screeched, pulling with all his might to get away from his torturer. “It burns. Oh, God, it hurts so much.” Never before had someone _wanted_ to just plain hurt him. Not even Tommy Geelis, who used to knock him over in the schoolyard for his lunch money.

He was ignored, of course, and pushed over to the toilet to sit down.

“Don’t move, and don’t touch your head,” he was instructed, and Will was too afraid of causing himself more pain, so he listened. He wasn’t told to stop crying, and did that quite freely, until some time later, when the stuff was rinsed off, bringing a blessed sigh of relief as the burning sensation ceased.

The old man took a towel to Will’s head, briskly drying it; paying no attention to the wounded eyebrow, which had reopened with his less than tender ministrations. Once more blood dripped down the side of Will’s face, accompanied by tears and whimpers.

Thing One was silent. He simply slapped Will across the cheek, staring him down, which of course, made the boy sob louder.

With a slap to the other cheek, he made an obvious effort to still his tears and be quiet. He simply didn’t have any more face to be hurt.

“Better,” Thing One retorted. “Maybe you are trainable, after all.” He brought out a small metal container and held it to the still bleeding wound.

William stayed silent, crumpling to the floor when the door slammed shut again and he was finally left alone. He was terrified. What if he moved and that creep came back? He didn’t know how much time had finally passed when he dared to stand and look at himself in the mirror.

He would never have recognized the boy he saw there. White blond hair sticking up every which way. Blood staining one side of his face. The eyebrow puffed up and marked with what looked like an ‘x’ - blood still oozing from the cuts. Scared the shit out of himself, after all the vampire talk. Maybe he was what Thing One said. Evil… a monster.

Will washed his face as best he could, gently dabbing at the cuts so as not to make it worse.

“I’m not a monster,” he whispered to his reflection, desperate to convince himself. “I’m not! I’m… not.”


	26. Beware the Jabberwocky

Nathaniel stood outside the warded door, carrying a breakfast tray in one hand, and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other – trying to stave off the worst headache he’d had in ages.

 _Why couldn’t Lydia see this was for the greater good?_ Yelling and screaming at him over the breakfast table like a vulgar American.

‘How cruel,’ she’d said. ‘He’s a child,’ she’d said. ‘He’s human,’ she insisted. Couldn’t she understand that this was as much to save the boy as it was to help themselves?

Nate opened the door, trying to shake the words and condemnation out of his head. A few mumbled phrases and the wards let him enter.

If there was any good to be found in the child, it could only be nurtured in an environment safely away from the influence of that blasted vampire. A corruptor of innocent souls. Not that he believed for one second that the boy was entirely human – how could he be? Surely a demon still resided in situ, probably engaged in a death struggle with the soul.

The soul… an innocent soul. That’s why he’d agreed with Roger’s plan in the first place. Save the innocent soul and give it a purpose. Bind the demon and free the child from its influence.

Spotting the empty sofa, Nate was pleased. That meant the boy had roused and found his way into the bedroom. Good, he nodded. The sooner he settled, the sooner they could begin his indoctrination into the plan.

He placed the tray containing a box of cereals, a container of milk, an empty bowl and a banana on the small kitchen table and headed for the bedroom.

Peering into the quiet room, he noted the bunched up duvet.

“William, time to get up. I’m not going to serve your breakfast in bed. If you want to eat, you had better get up and make your way into the kitchen.”

Silence.

Moving further into the room, Nate spotted the bloodied sheets and empty bed. A whisper of unease unfurled in his belly.

His eye traced the blood’s path from the bed to the floor, leading to the bathroom. It was a small room, yet he heard the boy’s mewling before he saw him. There, wedged in between the loo and wall, was a small black ball of misery keening and slowly rocking back and forth.

At the sound of Nate’s shoe against the floor tile, Will looked up; eyes blank and unseeing.

The man couldn’t believe his own eyes. He’d had to look twice to be sure this was the same child he’d brought to the suite the night before. The wild head of white-blond curls threw him. What spurred him into action was slipping in a puddle of blood.

“William?”

The child shook violently at the sound of his voice, but made no move to leave his bolt hole. Pus dripped from an angry red x-shaped incision bisecting the left eyebrow.

He tried to coax the boy from his position, tried to make himself smaller, closer to the boy’s eye level but Will wouldn’t acknowledge his presence. Nate spoke soothingly, talking to him like he had once calmed the feral cat Lydia had brought home when she was a youngster. “It’s all right, William. Nobody will hurt you. I promise. Come to me… that’s a good boy.”

In the end, Nathaniel had to wrest him free by grabbing for the keening child under the armpits – gently – not knowing what damage might have been done to his body.

The reaction to his touch was instantaneous. Will lashed out like a cornered animal, catching Nate across the face with his fingernails. He might not have had a vampire’s game face, but the wild look in his eyes came damned close.

Unexpectedly, William bit deeply into Nathaniel’s forearm when the man refused to loosen his grip, nearly resulting in his escape, but not quite. The Watcher gathered Will closely to his chest, nearly letting go for the second time. The boy’s body was hot to the touch; making his fever felt even through his clothing.

 _What the bloody hell could have happened to him in so short a period of time._ When it hit, it hit hard. _The hair… the eyebrow…dear Lord, Roger. What have you done?_

Finally disengaging his teeth from Nathaniel’s arm, Will went lax – the only movement his chest rising and falling rapidly with his labored breaths.

Taking advantage of the stillness and hoping it wasn’t just a feint, he scooped the boy into his arms, knowing he had no choice but to take him to a doctor. One whose discretion could be counted upon. Not to mention, one who would understand the significance of just _who_ the child was.

Nate shook his head in dismay. It was one thing to slay a demon, another to capture it – to use it and train it as a weapon for the cause. To torture and terrorize it went beyond vulgar. It was asinine. One treated one’s weapons with respect if they wanted to be sure of wielding it with success and accuracy..

_Ah, humanity… The very aspect that makes us more than demon._

He took a moment to wrap William in a blanket, hiding the worst of what had been done to him. Making a quick phone call to alert the clinic to expect him and his ‘guest’, Nathaniel headed out of the door.

And promptly fell back into the suite when his cargo bounced against the anti-demon ward he’d erected at Roger Wyndam-Pryce’s insistence.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, swiftly repeating the passwords to allow the boy egress, wincing at the painful mewls coming from the blanketed form from the jarring contact.

It was a simple ward, working on the same principal of the disinvite spell. It did provide incontrovertible evidence of a demon residing in the child.

_Guess the old codger was right after all._

But that knowledge didn’t negate the fact that the sick, wounded boy in his arms had been hurt by a human, and needed tending to. “Arrogant bastard,” he whispered. “If we’d wanted him dead, it would have been simpler to take him out right there in the school.” No need to go to all the time and expense incurred in setting up our plan.

Nate had never wanted it to come to this, but changes were going to have to be made starting at the top. A loose cannon would upset all the delicate plans in progress. Roger’s behavior on the plane had sparked the fear, but this latest stunt clinched it. The trick would be in getting the man to condemn himself. There was time, yet. But a plan would be set into motion as soon as possible.

The Council was everything. Nathaniel had pledged his life to it long ago, forsaking personal goals of friends and family for service to the cause. He’d been taken under Wyndam-Pryce’s wing as his protégé; looked to him for guidance as a proper Watcher. And now the time had come to take his teachings literally. Eliminate any threat, no matter who it turned out to be.

And this boy – this demon child – would be the man’s downfall, just as he might one day be the tool that the Council needed to get the Slayers back under control.

Properly indoctrinated and trained, William should be capable of taking out the rogue elements with ease, leaving the more mundane issues to proper Watchers.

That, however, was well into the future… and if he wanted that to come to pass, William must first make a full recovery.

Dr. MacGuire was alone in his office. He’d sent away his staff as requested.

Nate laid his burden down on the first available bed, standing close in case the boy was faking it. He needn’t have worried. With a thin, shrill cry, William curled into a fetal position and stayed still.

The doctor took over, gently rearranging the boy’s limbs and fastening restraining straps around his wrists and ankles.

“It’s for his own safety, Mr. Chalmers.” Dr. MacGuire rapidly assured the Watcher. “They’re well padded and won’t chafe his delicate skin. I’ll need to keep him still while that nasty infection is lanced and drained. And I’m going to start an intravenous drip for antibiotics and to prevent dehydration – see if I can bring his temperature down and return him to consciousness.”

“It’s more than the fever, Mac. He’s been traumatized.” Nate turned, unexpectedly squeamish as the doctor expressed globs of yellowish pus from the infected wound. “And he can be quite unpredictable and vicious,” he said, holding out his bitten arm as evidence.

“Oho! So the little bugger bites, eh?” The doctor moved from task to task, pausing to wash his hands and don new sets of gloves. He inserted the needles with well practiced ease, then continued to cleanse the boy’s face. “How long has he been suffering like this?”

“I’m not sure,” Nathaniel evaded. “Yes, he bites. And he scratches too.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can for the lad medically. A couple of stitches once the swelling goes down a jot. Shame it’s going to leave a scar on such a sweet face,” he said, voice full of regret. “Shall I call you when the antibiotics have taken effect or will you be staying?”

“Let me tend to my war wounds before I go.” Nathaniel rolled up his shirtsleeve and set to rinsing the bite with an antibacterial scrub. “Mac, would you mind…”

“No worries. Fully documented?”

“Strictly confidential. Original file only, and I will take it with me when I pick up the boy. Understood?”

“Of course, Mr. Chalmers.”

William seemed to be resting more comfortably now that the doctor had stopped fussing with his eye. He remained calm while the blood and tissue samples were taken. Might as well get used to it now… there would be many more tests in his future. Then again, he wasn’t exactly conscious. Nate suspected the next medical would be much more… interesting.

Nate heard the boy muttering something, over and over. Bent down over Will’s body, he could just make it out: “notmonsternotmonsternotmonster” repeated over and over again as a litany. His voice was cracked and raw, but he wouldn’t stop repeating the words.

“Please Mac, can you give him something to knock him out fully? He’s exhausted. Sounds like he’s been mumbling for hours.”

The doctor turned to him, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to risk it. The lad seems to be in shock, and I don’t want to jeopardize his breathing. I’d prefer to see him come round, first.”

He ran several ice chips around Will’s parched lips hoping to give a little comfort, and was unprepared with the child’s jaws snapped viciously around his fingers with a growl.

Nate chortled, a rare enough occurrence that Mac started at the Watcher.

“Private joke, Mac,” he said, laughing inwardly at William the Bloody making victims of two Council members while restrained and supposedly helpless. “Will he be all right? _Would they lose even more time thanks to Roger’s obsession?_

“He’ll be fine, Mr. Chalmers. Physically, at least. His temperature’s noticeably down already. Whatever emotional trauma he’s been dealt… only time and patience will tell.”

“I see…” And he really did see. You don’t sharpen a sword by slamming it against a rock. You stroked it gently against a steel – carefully so it developed a fine edge.

“I’m not a monster,” Will yelled, loud and clear, eyes still tightly closed.

Nate hoped to prove the boy right.


	27. Blood Ties

It’d been a week… seven entire days since William had been taken. One hundred and sixty eight hours since Angel had last slept. Even for someone with the preternatural abilities and stamina of a vampire, that was a long time to go without rest, and it showed. For an eternally youthful creature, Angel looked middle-aged. He was haggard; dark smudges had appeared under his red-rimmed eyes and the shadow of a beard evoked the true demon hidden within a usually angelic visage.

Nina’s heart was twice broken. The boy she’d loved for nine years as her own was missing, inexplicably kidnapped from school, and the man she’d loved for more than a decade was losing more of himself with each day that passed and their child remained missing. She was determined not to lose them both.

“Angel, you really need to get some rest,” she coaxed, trying to lure her resisting spouse to their bed. “How much help do you think you’ll be to Will if you can’t stand on your own two feet?”

“I can’t sleep, Nina. Not after that letter… the smell of fear in Will’s blood.” Angel ran his hand through his hair, adding to the disheveled, manic look. “Why won’t Giles return my calls? I just know that bastard is involved with this. He must have sold his own soul to put in with the likes of Wes’ father and that fool, Nathaniel.” Woeful hound eyes begged for answers from his spouse. “Tell me why the people we love are related to such – such filth.”

Nina raked her hand through her hair, helpless, but still trying. “There’s nothing I can say, my love, and you’re falling off your feet. Come to bed with me and we’ll try Rupert again in the morning.”

Worn down, Angel offered no further argument as he crawled into bed beside his wife.

Nina watched as he pulled their son’s beloved Paddy bear from under his pillow and held it to his chest as he fell asleep. She’d have to thank the guidance counselor for having the heart to rescue Will’s belongings from the trashcan in her office. Even though it brought home the fact that their son was gone, they could hold onto the hope of returning the stuffed animal to its rightful owner _when_ he came back.

***

Angel tossed and turned. Unable to fall asleep and unwilling to awaken his wife, he got out of bed, slipped on a robe and opened the bedroom door. Maybe sitting in William’s room would give him some comfort… some hope.

As he stepped out into the hallway, he found himself in the basement of Wolfram & Hart’s surgical wing. The place was as dark and dank as he remembered it all those years ago. And white! Stark and painful to the eyes. 

He was nearly shocked into breathing when he saw the security guard; Buffy, sitting there, munching on a doughnut and reading the newspaper. She dropped both as soon as she saw him coming; standing at attention as he passed in front of her post.

 _At least she’s trying to make herself useful,_ he thought. _Not standing around like a statue._ Angel told her to take her shift break early. Not questioning her good fortune, Buffy seemed relieved as she left for the cafeteria, abandoning the elder vampire to his brooding.

He continued walking, spotting a familiar figure wearing white surgical scrubs – Dr. Daniel Holtz was emblazoned on the name tag. As he stared, Holtz rolled an incubator with a crying infant into one of the rooms.

 _I know that cry. Connor!_ Angel started after the doctor, and was stopped by Darla in a skimpy nurse’s uniform, complete with little white cap pinned to her blonde hair.

“It’s really terrible to lose a child, dear boy,” Darla murmured. “You can’t let him get away. They never come back the same, you know.”

Angel stood preternaturally still outside Connor’s door, waiting for some sign from the doctor that it was all right to go inside. When the suspense became overwhelming, he opened the door and watched as Nurse Drusilla finished winding bandages around the stumps of William’s arms.

“Help me, Daddy,” he begged, holding out his deformed limbs.

Angel fled the room to the sound of Drusilla’s insane cackling. “There, there, little love. Daddy can’t save any of his children, but perhaps Mummy’ll do in a pinch.”

 _This can’t possibly be happening,_ Angel thought, holding onto the wall outside for support. “Maybe Nina was right – sleep deprivation is gonna kill me.”

Steeling himself for the gruesome sight, Angel went back into the room. Lying in the bed was Spike, still unconscious, his newly reattached arms resting at his side. Angel remembered… he’d been through this before, he was sure of it.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he was there of his own free will… again. For Spike. He tried to justify it by recalling that Spike lost his hands in the line of duty – to Angel, himself. A mission the younger vampire probably wouldn’t have undertaken if it weren’t an opportunity to show his grandsire up. Angel would have to concede, if only to himself, that even though Spike refused to be associated with Wolfram & Hart, and mouthed off against him at every given opportunity, when push came to shove, Spike had continued to stand by the mission.

Finally sinking down into the empty chair, Angel held his head in his hands and grumbled: “You were always such a pain in the ass, William. I don’t know why I bother…”

“They say talking to yourself is the first sign of senility, Angel. Do vampires fall prey to such human afflictions?” Rupert Giles chortled, pleased at having gained the upper hand for the moment. “It would explain that tedious urge you keep getting to destroy the world from time to time.”

The big vampire startled, unnerved that he’d let the Watcher sneak up on him, accompanied by two little Slayers in pigtails, both wearing pinafores and patent leather Mary Janes. Each girl held on to her own plastic pop-gun and a large multi-colored lollipop.

“What are you doing here, Giles?” Angel jumped up, coming face-to-face with the Watcher. “If you were here all along, why did you send that idiot, Andrew, to double cross me… us?” Angel seamlessly slipped into his old role as CEO of Wolfram & Hart as if the past ten years had never existed.

“Frankly, it wasn’t my inclination to visit Wolfram & Hart at all. I simply decided to use this trip as a training effort for the lad.” Giles stared at the name printed on the file attached to the door. “So it’s true. Our prodigal vampire has returned.”

_If he was waiting for a confirmation, he had a long time coming._

“I’d suspected Andrew had lied, or fantasized about Spike’s resurrection. It wouldn’t have been the first time.” Giles was about to reach for the door, when Angel blocked his way. He didn’t bother making a point of it. “As for his accidental dismembering, I thought it was another of the boy’s exaggerations.”

“It wasn’t, Angel grumbled, refusing to elucidate.

“However,” Giles continued as if uninterrupted, “if Spike is so much trouble to you, I can always take him back to England with me.”

“What do you mean?” Angel asked, hating how part of him – a _very large_ part of him was tempted to dump his burden into someone else’s hands. Then again, Spike was family, and Giles? Giles was part of ‘the enemy’ – the Watcher’s Council – the entity responsible for hounding vampires into dust for millennia, though not entirely without reason.

“Let’s say I was interested in dumping the jerk, just for the hell of it,” Angel mused. “What possible reasons do you have for taking Spike with you? Humiliation? Would you put a sign outside his window? ‘Pet vamp here, slightly scary – don’t throw things at the glass’?”

The Watcher glared back at Angel, both little girls on the alert – pop-guns aimed at the vampire’s heart.

“One, two, buckle my shoe,” sang the redhead.”

The brunette followed with: “Three, four, shut the door.”

“Spike’s worked with us before,” Giles grimaced. Obviously the Doublemint Twins were a bit taxing on the old man. “He could be of great use to the Council, what with his knowledge of demons and their customs. Not to mention his fighting skills.” 

Angel could tell it nearly killed the man to admit that Spike was good for anything.

“Whether through idiot’s luck or strategic skill, he’s managed to kill two slayers, not to mention nearly taking Buffy down on several occasions. We wouldn’t waste such a rich commodity as a resident vampire, Angelus.”

Angel’s sub-vocal growl caused the slayers to release their safeties and step forward – placing themselves between Watcher and Vampire.

“Five, six, pick up sticks,” the girls chorused with no small amount of venom in their glares.

“He’s not a commodity,” Angel insisted. “Not for you, not for the Council. And as for his fighting skills, the healers can’t even guarantee his arms will mend or ever be fully functional again. Then where would he be?”

“Spike will be whatever he needs to be. You and I both know that he’d adapt. If he heals well, he’ll have all the fighting he can handle, and then some. If not… well, I’m sure we’ll find a place for him.”

“Like another cross-filled garage?”

It was Giles’ turn to startle. “He told you?” Not a shred of remorse emanated from the man.

“Spike on a drunken binge holds nothing back. You’re lucky I didn’t go after you, myself.” Angel stroked his chin, eyes sparking with malice. “And what will Buffy think of this? Watching you put her pet vampire through his paces?”

“Buffy’s in Italy, leading the life she’s always wanted. She’s free of the solo Slayer mantle.”

“But-but… I just… she was just here, guarding…”

Giles ignored his spluttering and forged ahead. “As a matter of fact, Andrew told me that Spike didn’t want her to know he was back. He said he would tell her in due time, when he was ready.”

“And you’d allow this out of the goodness of your heart?” Angel snorted at his response, unable to hold back his disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want Spike within a mile of Buffy. That’s why I sent her away. But that still doesn’t change things. What you’re planning is vile, and Buffy will hate you for it if she ever found out. Making him a virtual prisoner of the Council. Letting him out for walkies whenever you needed him for a mission that was too dangerous to endanger your fellow humans. How would you propose this to him? Pretend it’s for his own protection? We both know that’s not true”

“Well, yes,” Giles conceded. “So do you.”

“But I wouldn’t lie to him about it.”

Giles scoffed at him, making Angel want to kick that calm, reserved look off the Watcher’s face. “Spike doesn’t know the meaning of the word responsible, Angel. It took me awhile to figure him out. He’s like a child that needs guidance. A two year old in terms of his attention span.” Giles looked down his nose at him with disdain dripping from every word. “Who’s going to point him in the right direction? You? He likes to fight, and we’ll give him every opportunity to do so. He’ll be kept from getting in over his head and endangering either himself or anyone else. With any luck, we’ll manage to keep his messups under control. It’s what you do with children like Spike.”

“Childish, perhaps.” Angel couldn’t disagree with that comparison. William had always been his wild boy – untamable, uncontrollable. And beautiful. Juxtaposed with that memory was one of a giggling little boy, blowing out candles on his birthday cake. He couldn’t remember which images were real and which weren’t, and it was making Angel irritable.

“A childe that you tried to have killed.” Angel’s glare was near feral, flashes of gold popping into the dark brown irises. “Yes, Rupert. I know all about that little… game of yours, you manipulative bastard,” he spat. “Spike’s family, old man. My grandchilde… my youngest. My boy. And yes, we’ve had a particularly stormy relationship over the decades… but we’ve always been straightforward about our hatred. You’re looking to manipulate him like a brainless puppet. And then there’s Buffy. She won’t stand for it again. Doesn’t matter who she’s with at the time, the day she finds out about Spike she’ll turn on you like a rabid dog.”

Giles cleared his throat. “Then tell me this, Angel. Why weren’t you on the phone first thing, telling Buffy that her latest demon lover had come back to life?”

“I don’t want them to be together either, but Spike is free to do as he chooses. With or without my encouragement – or lack, thereof.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Giles agreed. “That’s always been your way, hasn’t it? Letting your childer run around free, killing whomever they wanted. Is that why you’ve never been able to stake them? Plenty of other vampires have fallen to your stake, but not those two. Never the ones closest to you; Drusilla, Spike… yet you managed to kill your own sire. It’s almost touching.”

Angel growled, low and menacing. 

The girls giggled, breaking out into verse once more. “Seven, eight, lay them straight,” and brought their guns a bit closer to the vampire. Bang, the one in front of him mimed.

“I staked Darla to save your precious Slayer’s life,” he shouted. “I suppose you’d have preferred I let her shoot Buffy, instead?”

“Did you?” Giles demanded. “Or did you just pretend? I heard she had a slight problem with birth control about a year ago.”

Angel shed his human mask, baring his fangs in a grin that no doubt had humans losing control of their bowels in years past. “Do Watchers know what it means for a vampire to dust their Sire? It rips at our very foundation. It’s one of the few forbidden things in vampiric lore, and I did it to save a girl. I’ll bet you didn’t know I tried to get Buffy to stake me, first, so I wouldn’t have to.”

By now the little girls had put down their pop-guns and finished their lollipops. They sat on the floor chanting: “What are little boys made of? What are little boys made of? Snips and snails and Watchers’ tales, that’s what little boys are made of!”

Angel ignored the warning bells going off in his head and dismissed the girls with sharp, swift kicks, sending them spiraling down the hallway.

“Stay where you are, children,” he bellowed, not even looking in their direction. “I’ll have his heart in my hands before you can move.”

“Now see here, man…”

“Believe me, Giles. It took me months to be able to function without feeling my Sire’s loss. Why do you think I was such a waste of space in those days? I could barely hang on to being there, following after Buffy like a little lost puppy, because she was the only purpose I had left after killing Darla.”

Stepping back, Angel realized he needed to calm down. He had to get control of himself. It would be too easy to just reach out and… he shook off the thought with difficulty. 

“It took me months to be able to function without feeling my Sire's loss. And then, just as I’m getting my footing back, just as I’m starting to think I might be some good to _her_ … ‘they’ show up. Spike and Drusilla, almost as if they’d waited for the perfect moment. I wanted to stake him then. I could have… I was so close. But when push came to shove, Spike got the upper hand and I nearly dusted in his quest to heal our Drusilla. I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t lose another member of my family when I could save them… even at the cost of my unlife.”

Giles snorted his derision. “My only concerns for you at the time centered around how your loss would affect my Slayer. Your evil, soulless, murdering family meant less than nothing to me. By all rights you should have destroyed them as you’d done any number of vamps during your patrols.”

Angel cocked his head, certain he’d heard signs of Spike awakening. “Listen to me, Giles. I’m telling you once and for all. Spike stays here. I’m not about to medicate his IV line so you can take him wherever the hell you want – and we both know that’s the only way he’ll deign to go with you. He’s mine to do with as I please, and I will not have him under the thumb of humans. Especially those under the auspices of the Watchers Council, where I’m sure he’ll be studied while he’s ‘helping’. He’s nobody’s lab rat – not again. And he nobody’s plaything, Rupert – nobody’s but mine.”

“And I’m sure he’ll thank you for that on his knees someday,” Giles sighed, silently conceding Spike’s guardianship. 

Watcher and Vampire faced off. CEO of Wolfram & Hart and Head of the Council of Watchers. In the end, Giles headed down the corridor, but his vanguard stayed behind, chanting one more chorus for his listening pleasure.

“There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile. He found more than sixpence beside a crooked stile.” With their final word, the girls bowed, waved and trotted off to rejoin the Watcher.

“Look at me, old man,” Angel snarled, halting Giles’ progress towards the exit. “He’s here, and he’s been helpful when he’s not being a pain in the ass. When the time comes that he’s a detriment to the mission or humanity in general, I’ll take him out, myself. Call off your munchkins,” he snapped, indicating the giggling children at his side. He stared at the backs of the retreating slayers before he turned and slipped inside Spike’s hospital room.

***

As he walked into his childe’s room, Angel woke up, trying to figure out where he was. In his own bed; apparently – Nina still sleeping soundly on her side.

“A dream,” he muttered. “Nothing but a fucking dream. And she wonders why I don’t want to go to bed.” It would be so easy for him to slip back under the covers and slip away. Sleep was so close to claiming him again.

“Hello, Angel.”

_Huh?_

“This sitch just sucks. I wish you could…”

Angel looked at Nina to assure himself that it wasn’t she who spoke. _Nope, still out like a light._ There! No way, he thought, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Buffy sat cross-legged on the corner of the bed, idly picking at the pills on his comforter.


	28. Bound by Love

Angel stilled at the sight of the girl who had first stolen his non-beating heart all those years ago. She appeared to be translucent; he could barely make out the outline of the furniture across the room through her shimmering body. Did he dare move? Would she vanish?

He was startled to find himself still clutching Paddy bear as he attempted to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

“Take a picture, Angel. It’ll last longer.” His little fantasy stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes at him.

 _Is it really you?_ He closed his own eyes, still unwilling to believe the vision before him.

“It’s me in the not-so-fleshy flesh. Sorta sitting on your bed and you don’t have a clue. I could sit on your lap and you’d still be all… clueless.”

She tossed back the golden mane of hair he remembered running his fingers through when they’d first begun… and began a slow crawl up the bed, not making the slightest impression on the bedcovers.

 _Oh my God! I’m still dreaming… it’s the only explanation._ He looked guiltily over at his sleeping wife. Just what he needed – everyman’s fantasy. A wife and a nymph in his bed at the same time.

“I wish you could hear me, Angel,” she murmured, straddling his legs in a fairly intimate position. “It’s been so long since _she’s_ granted me freedom… since I’ve been able to roam around, and now I find that our Will is gone. We have to get him back!”

 _She’s a ghost! She’s a ghost! She’s a ghost! Huh?_ “Buffy?” His voice cracked with uncertainty, but he had to try.

Buffy continued as if he’d not spoken. “I miss him so much. Will’s such a good boy.”

“Buffy,” he tried again, louder this time.

The surprised look on Buffy’s face was priceless. “You… you can hear me?”

Angel nodded.

“And you can see me?”

“Of course not. This is just another dream. A weird dream that’s part of the other dream and I can’t seem to wake up.”

She eeped shrilly and leapt away from him in a totally graceless move. Had she been solid flesh, her flight would have landed her on the floor.

“Oh my God! You can!! It’s about damned time.”

Angel grabbed the comforter and held it to his chest in an odd display of modesty.

Buffy laughed. “Who are you kidding, buster. You’re wearing… _silk?_ jammies. What do you think you’re hiding that I haven’t seen before, anyway?”

“God, Buffy… you’re really here.” He reached out to stroke her face and gasped as his hand passed right through her.

He felt sick with disappointment. “I knew this was too good to be true. Damned hallucinations. I’ve gotta be mad if I can’t tell what’s real from a figment of my imagination.” He looked at the bear in his hands before bringing it up to his cheek. “Nothing is real anymore, Paddy. My boy’s missing, and Buffy’s been gone for so many…”

“Damn it, Angel. I’m real! I’m as real as you and your wife. I just don’t have a solid body and… Gods, I should have listened to Wes and stayed away from you.”

 _Great. Now my ghosts are arguing with me. Haven’t I been through this once already with Spike?_ “Go away, Buffy,” he sighed tiredly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

She snorted her displeasure. “Well, that’s just ducky, Angel. Maybe you can give up, but I can’t.” She climbed back on the bed, anger flashing brighter in her hazel eyes.

“Why don’t you just leave me to my insanity? I’d like to know what I did that I’m always saddled with the annoying ghosts.” Looking up at the ceiling, Angel begged: “Haven’t I earned something better than this? Than being haunted by the annoying ghosts? First Spike and then… and could you keep it down a bit? My wife is sleeping.”

“I doubt she’d be able to see or hear me. And… and now I’m annoying?” The infamous Buffy pout made its presence known.

This time, Angel rolled his eyes. “You’re a figment of my imagination that’s keeping me awake when I should be sleeping, so I’d say… yes.”

“Were you always this thick?”

“My Buffy would never be so hurtful to me.”

“And just what would… and hey! What do you mean, _your_ Buffy?”

 _Now I’m arguing with a ghost._ Angel held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Fine, you’re real. Just say your piece and let me go back to sleep.”

“Listen to me, bucko. We could argue about my metaphysicalities all night long… can’t you just accept that it’s me? Really me?” Buffy whined. “I haven’t been around much since Giles…”

“Giles! Did he have something to do with turning you into a statue?” The mere mention of the Watcher’s name fanned the vampire’s rage. “If he’s responsible for you as well…”

“No, dumbass. Remember the garden? The spell? Buffy go poof? How about Dawnie, when she found out what a big liar guy you really are? I should be furious at you for lying to my baby sister, you know.”

Angel had the good graces to look embarrassed.

“Why do you have so much trouble admitting you cared about Spike?”

 _Huh?_ “What are you talking about?” he hedged, wondering at her non-sequitur.

“I mean, you spent so much time being angry at a baby because you couldn’t admit you cared about Spike.”

“I’m not angry at William. I’d give anything to get him back.”

“That I believe, Angel. I’m not questioning how you feel about your son now… ten years post being Spike. It took you long enough, buster – and you still haven’t answered my question,” she said, arms held tightly against her chest. “I’ve been here since his first birthday. I watched his little face crumple when you wouldn’t give him the time of day and he couldn’t figure out why.”

He was stunned. How could she have known… have seen…? “And you’re telling me you saw all this? How is it possible with you being a statue and all?”

“My prison is exactly where you put it five years ago. Do you remember the night Little Miss Insano-vamp came to take Will away? That’s the first time I was free. Stuck in the garden, but free.”

“But nobody could see you.”

“William saw me, Angel,” she said softly. “He saw me the day you took me out of the box. And I saw him.

There wasn’t anything for him to say. Angel remembered the strange affinity his son had for the statue. 

“I saw everything, buster. And I’ve gotta tell you… I’m awfully proud of you.”

“Proud?”

Buffy smiled and unwound her posture, seeming to lean back on her arms. “Uh huh! Who’da thunk it, but the Mighty Angelus turned into a wonderful papa to two fine boys.”

“I am?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Duh? Connor and William? Can’t you count to two after all those years of Sesame Street under your belt?”

“But… I keep doing things wrong, Buffy. I keep messing up.” Angel sighed, remembering Dream Drusilla’s words. “I can’t keep my children safe. No… I can’t save my children.”

“Pffft!” Buffy waved her arm in dismissal. “That’s just crazy talk. Besides, do you think my mother did everything right? Parenting means heartache and fights – believe me, I gave my mother hell, and that’s without all the Slayery badness. But when you get it right… it’s marvelous. And I’ve seen you get it right. Well, mostly, anyway.”

She reached out her hand and ghosted it along the side of Angel’s face.

“But you try,” she insisted. “That’s what makes a good parent. No matter how wrong things go, or how bad the fights get, you just don’t give up.”

Buffy stood up, and began to pace back and forth in front of the bed. “But just so you don’t get a swelled head or anything, you make a craptastic almost father-in-law. Have you heard anything from my sister since she made with the leavage? And how long has it been exactly? I tend to get a bit fuzzy on the details.”

“The last time I spoke with…Giles,” he said, gritting the name out between clenched teeth, “he said she was fine. On her orders, he won’t give me any more information, but I worry. Connor worries. She still won’t talk to him… won’t let him explain he didn’t know about the lie… _my_ lie.”

“I know she’s been writing to Will,” Buffy said, softly. “I hadn’t been able to talk to him since I came back, and I don’t know if he could sense me anymore, but I could see him and hear him. He lived for her letters, Angel. He misses her so much.”

“Will’s only ten years old, Buffy. Still a baby in the ways of the world.” Angel sniffed. “He’s a wonderful boy and I miss him. We miss him… me and Nina.”

“You do realize you’re cuddling his Paddy bear?”

“Yes? And?” Angel grew defensive, but refused to put the bear down.

Buffy looked over at Nina, then back at Angel. “You do realize you have better things to cuddle, don’t you? Someone who’s as deep into this as you are?”

“Oh God… Buffy, Nina… she’s… I love her. I never thought I’d love someone else so…” his whispered words trailed off.

“It’s all right, you know. That you’ve moved on.” Again, Buffy smiled, no trace of hurt in her expression. “She’s a good lady, and she loves Will.” A mischievous grin lit up her face. “And when he comes home, you guys can make with the whoopee and give him a whole litter of puppies!”

Angel shook his head in amazement. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” he murmured.

“Well, duh!” she replied. “What have I been saying all along? And now that we’ve established my real non-corporeality… why aren’t you on a plane to England to tear apart the Council with Giles in person?”

“I thought you saw everything.”

“Don’t play Mr. Smart-vamp with me, bucko. I just know if it were Dawn in Will’s place? I wouldn’t be sitting here and crying about it. I’d be on the next plane outta here and ripping up the Council stone by stone.”

Sitting up straighter, Angel’s anger began to seep through. “I was ready to go, damn it. I’d packed and called in favors… and then that letter arrived.” He stabbed his finger in the direction of the dresser.

“Well, are you gonna tell me what’s _in_ the letter? It’s not like I can pick it up and read it,” she said, a mite testily. “Well, not so much anymore.”

“Those Council bastards scented the letter with Will’s blood! With Will’s terror-laced blood.” Angel lost control of his tears and they fell silently down his cheeks, staining his silk pajama shirt a darker maroon. “They promised his death would be on my hands if I set foot on the continent, and they’d send video as proof.”

Buffy’s eyes blazed with an inner fury. “So where the fuck is Giles? And what is he doing to get Will back?”

“Who knows? The bastard probably threw in his lot with Chalmers and that other idiot,” Angel fumed quietly. “Watchers of a feather sticking together. Because don’t think I don’t know what he tried to do to Spike. He told me, you know. They both told me… at different times. ”

After a moment’s hesitation, Buffy refuted his statement. “Against Spike, yes. It would have been an act of cold-blooded murder. But Angel, he could never harm an innocent child. Especially Will. You should know that. He adores the boy.”

“Like he wouldn’t have killed Dawn… the year you… you… died?” At her incredulous look, he continued. “Spike, remember? Drunk out of his gourd Spike? We had several long nights talking about what went down in Sunnydale. He told me about the threats he made against your sister in the name of ‘doing the right thing’. Buffy, I don’t trust that man.”

“Well, I do. To a point, anyway,” she amended. “Angel, you have to trust this: Giles adores the boy. You can’t deny it. What possible reason would he have for being complicit in kidnapping his _grandson_ and threatening you? Show me some proof, and I’ll back you wholeheartedly, but until then…”

Angel refused to be swayed by her words, and held stubbornly to his convictions. “He let a friend of mine die, Buffy. I called him and begged for his help to save her life. He let his distrust of me kill an innocent young woman. And he tried to take control of Spike once before when...”

The sight of Buffy flickering in and out of sight caused Angel to stop his diatribe mid-rant. Slowly, her form began to solidify enough for her to be heard once more.

“We have to hurry, Angel,” she gasped, panting as if she’d been running for hours. “I don’t think we have the time to argue.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happening to you?” Angel was on the verge of panicking. He hadn’t seen Buffy for over ten years, if you didn’t count the momentary appearance in the garden five years ago and didn’t want to lose her again.

“No, please! I need more time,” Buffy cried out, obviously in pain and being pulled somewhere against her will. “The boy… you promised me…!”

And then she was gone.

Angel fell back against his pillow, still in shock at Buffy’s appearance and sudden exit. _What did it all mean? Would she be back?_

The alarm on the clock radio turned on, music filling the room as Nina stretched and rolled over towards her husband, reaching out for a morning cuddle. The words of Wilson-Phillips’s “You’re in Love” washed over them both.

_You’re in love / and it’s enough for me to know / that you’re in love / so I’ll let you go.  
Sometimes it’s hard to believe / that you’re never coming back to me ‘ I’d always dreamed of you by my side / until I would die / But now I see that you’re so happy / and it sets me free / and it’s enough for me to know / you’re in love/ so I’ll let you go_

Something clicked in Angel’s heart. Something he’d not known he’d needed, or wanted. Or missed.

Validation.

They’d both moved on.


	29. Eyes Wide Shut

Lydia knocked on her superior’s door with trepidation. These days, the fear of catching him unawares dictated caution.

_Please let this not be one of those days that he’s forgotten to put on his pants and trousers._

“M’busy. G’way,” came the muffled reply.

Risking her dignity and his, Lydia let herself into the office. A quick look around found the answering machine light blinking _fullfullfull_ , papers strewn all over the desk and… following the paper trail she looked down at the floor and gasped. Rupert Giles was slumped against the base of his desk, more reclining than upright, and it didn’t look like it had been his intention. His glasses were askew on his face, and his hair disheveled. It looked like he’d been lying there for hours.

“Mr. Giles?” She knelt at the man’s side, concerned that he’d suffered an injury when he’d fallen.

He was staring at his hands as if they were priceless artifacts. Turned them this way and that; first clenching then unclenching his fists.

“How did it all get away from us, Ms. Chalmers?”

“Sir?”

“It used to be so easy. Me, Watcher. Buffy, Slayer. Identify the monster of the week, point at the vampire and the Slayer did the rest.”

“Please, Sir. You need to get up from the floor.” Lydia extended her hand, which he brushed away.

“Now… now we have Slayerstatues, and-and souled vampires. Resurrections and Shan-shanso-shoshan… vampires turned human. Mustn’t kill ‘em – one might save the world.” Giles’ voice was tinged with bitterness. “When did it get so grey?”

This time, Lydia insisted he get up, pulling the frail looking man off the floor and settling him onto his leather sofa.

“It was always gray, Sir,” she said, fluffing a pillow behind his head. “We just never deigned to see it that way.”

As his head lolled back against the pillow, Lydia’s concern grew. “Are you all right, Mr. Giles? Should I call for a doctor?”

“They won’t tell me…” A severe coughing spell interrupted his speech. By the time Lydia had retrieved the wastebasket, the senior Watcher had turned alarmingly pale. He spat into the bin and continued. “They won’t tell me anything anymore. They’ve cast me out. Ignore what I say. Wheel me out like the Queen on parade from time to time, then it’s back in my cupboard just like a bleedin’ bank manager.”

He shivered, pulling up the throw from the arm of the sofa. “Their latest plan… it will destroy so many people if they carry it out.”

 _Dear Lord, he knows._ What plan, Mr. Giles?” she asked anyway, unwilling to believe he had anything to do with it.

“Mustn’t tell. Mustn’t let anyone know. It’s a secret,” he giggled, unable to stop until it turned into another coughing fit.

“Mr. Giles… Rupert… look at me.” Lydia could see there was something very wrong. He was more than drunk. His movements had been jerky, his body shook and his eyes were unfocused. “Have you taken anything? Any medications along with your drink?”

Giles giggled again. “Drink!” he snorted. “That’s the key. Such a pretty green.” 

Lydia knelt down beside the desk to reach into the lower drawers, finding a glass-stoppered bottle with at most a finger’s worth of bright green liquid inside underneath. She removed the stopper and delicately sniffed at the contents, dreading the confirmation of what she already suspected: absinthe!

“Oh for God’s sake, Rupert. What the bloody hell have you been doing to yourself?” she whispered.

Breaking the lock on the drawer, she found an unopened bottle, as well.

“Mr. Giles,” she said, shoving the opened bottle in front of the disoriented man. “Where did you get this? How long have you been drinking absinthe?”

“S’a pressie. For being a good boy and signing all my papers.” He reached out for the bottle, only to have his hand slapped away. “Mine,” he insisted. “From His Majestic Arsehole, Wyndam-Pryce, himself.” Once more giggles overtook the man, ending up as body-wracking coughs.

 _Roger Wyndam-Pryce!_ She should have known the bastard was behind this. How could he add fuel to an already raging fire like this?

“Sorry,” Giles whispered. “Need to apologize. Make her see. Stop the bloody ringing in my head, over and over. Makes my ears close and my eyes bleed.”

“Apologize to whom, Sir?”

He turned to her, then, grasping her hands and looking directly into her eyes. “Oh, Buffy! I’m so sorry. You were right. Right. Wrong, stupid old man. So sorry, love.”

 _Damn it!_ For a moment Lydia thought – had hoped, that her boss was connecting with the real world. _Patience is a virtue,_ she reminded herself. “Mr. Giles, it’s been ten years since you’ve spoken with your Slayer. What could you possibly have done that you need to apologize for now?”

“Smart girl you are, Buffy. Should have known,” he mumbled. “Right, right. And me. So wrong and thick. And stuck.”

Lydia was getting more confused by the second. All she could do at that point was go with his delusions. Perhaps gain some insight into what was driving him to destruction.

He looked at her again, and smiled. “Sweet girl, you’ve forgiven me, yes?”

The pleading in his eyes was heartbreaking. It wasn’t possible that he was seeing her, Lydia. No, in his mind and heart… he was seeing Buffy Summers,

“Of course I have,” she replied, playing along… but she could see he was already removed from their ‘conversation’.

Best to let the man sleep it off before she brought a doctor to call. Rupert Giles was in serious trouble, and it was well past time to act on his behalf.

As she headed out the door, Lydia heard him murmur: “If Spike is that much trouble to handle, I’ll gladly take him off your hands.”

She watched the man pass out as she reached for the phone. There really wasn’t a moment left to lose. 

***

Giles wheeled the giant-sized buggy down the hallway and into Spike’s room. “C’mon, big bad. Time to let Daddy take you home.”

His Slayer guard followed him into the room, chattering happily. All these children needing his protection. Father to many, Sire to none.

“Can we feed ‘im?” the little redhead asked. 

“We’ll hold the blood bottles just right so he won’t sick up on himself,” the brunette promised.

“Now, now, children. You mustn’t scare the little vampire. He’s one of a kind, you know.” He turned, walking straight into a wall of brood.

“It’s time for me to take the boy back where he belongs, Angel. I’m sure it’s in his best interest, after all.”

“Back to the chains? Back to the dungeons?” Angel demanded, surrounding himself with a cloak of darkness.

The cruel, evil vibe emanating from the angry vampire made Giles happy to have brought the Slayers with him, guarding his back. If only they’d actually pay attention to _him_ and not the little blond in the bed.

“No, Angel,” he said, soothing a lock of hair from Spike’s vampire visage. “We’ll find a place for him. He’ll adapt, as he’s always done. He has worked for us before, as you’ll recall.”

But the dark vampire wouldn’t listen as he steadfastly blocked the door.

“He’ll be of great use to the Council, with his knowledge of demons and their customs,” Giles insisted. “And if his hands grow back, he’ll have all the fighting he can handle.”

“And if he doesn’t recover? I already have a place for him, Watcher. He belongs with me,” Angel insisted.

“I don’t understand what the fuss is all about. You don’t even like him.”

When he looked up, it was Angelus facing him, the grin gracing his face sending shivers down Giles’ spine, bringing with it the odd flashing images of hands fading in and out, wielding a bloodied chainsaw.

“He’s mine, old man,” the vampire roared. “You’ll do well to keep your hands off m’boy.”

“What? You’re the only one who’s allowed to lay your hands on him? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Angelus? To push him on his knees and make him beg you for scraps of attention.”

The vampire’s smirk was enough of an answer. Giles knew he wasn’t going to win. It didn’t mean he was going to give up trying.

“He’s a child, Angel. A little boy playing at dressing-up in his father’s clothing. William needs guidance, and you’re the last person he should be getting it from.”

“But I think…”

“Shut up, boy,” both Watcher and Vampire chorused.

“Little boys should be seen and not heard,” said Giles.

“I want my Daddy,” came Will’s teary eyed rejoinder. “I want to go home.”

“Daddy’s here, William.”

Angel was gone, however, and his voice echoed in the room.

“Daddy!” the boy shrieked.

And the world went black.


	30. William and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**5:00pm – 5:30pm – Wake Up Call / Morning Ablutions**

William groaned as the lights flicked on, pulling the cover over his head until his eyes recovered from the assault. Within moments, he dragged himself out of bed, showered, ran a comb through his disgustingly white hair and brushed his teeth.

Picking out clothing wasn’t an issue. All he had were black sweats to choose from. And socks and boxers.

 _That’s me,_ he thought. _Wednesday Addams. Or Lydia from Beetlejuice. Didn’t these wankers know about colors? And weren’t there any boys he could model himself after?_ William shook his head in disgust as he tidied up his room and made the bed. He knew he was in trouble when he started to sound like _them._

**5:30pm – 5:45pm – Daily Inspection**

The boy startled at the sound of the door opening and realized he wasn’t in the right room to greet his ‘guest’. William quickly hurried to the main room before he could be accused of trying to hide. He’d actually tried to stay hidden, once. Thing One had made sure he wouldn’t be doing it again.

Thing Two raised an eyebrow as William hurried to school himself to attention.

‘Running a little behind schedule, William?”

Will quickly pulled his hands behind his back, trying to follow orders. He kept his eyes lowered.

“Yes, Sir,” he murmured.

Lying was another thing he’d been persuaded not to continue.

“Let’s get this done, shall we?” Nathaniel said as they walked through the tiny apartment. Not a word was spoken, but Will could see the mental checklist: Bathroom first – towels off the floor? Check. Toilet clean? Check. Floor dry? Check.

Bedroom next. Dresser tidy? Check. Bed made? Uh oh. Someone wasn’t looking too happy.

“William, what did I tell you about hospital corners?”

“Uhm… to use them?” He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, but Will couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. The fear of punishment caused his body to tremble.

Thing Two shook his head in disapproval, saying nothing more. He then demonstrated the proper way to make the bed once more, before removing the bedding and handing it to William for another go.

When the task was finally done more or less to his tormentor’s satisfaction, it was time for breakfast.

**5:45pm – 6:15pm – Breakfast**

There was a knock at the door. Nathaniel retrieved the breakfast tray as William made his way to the kitchen table. He stood behind his chair at attention as Thing Two placed the tray in front of Will’s chair.

Quickly sitting, the boy scanned the offering. Strips of bread – soldiers, he’d been informed - a soft boiled egg in an eggcup, milky tea that looked like slimy water and… _Weetabix again, damn it. Looked like someone poured the milk into it last night._ What wouldn’t he give for a nice bowl of Cheerios or Rice Krispies? 

As usual, he jammed the first few spoonfuls into his mouth under the overly watchful eyes of his captor, nearly gagging at the mushy texture, and put his spoon down, swallowing gamefully. _Oh God, what kind of moron eats this stuff? On purpose?_ It was, however, better than the dry bread he’d been given for two days after he’d told Thing One to go to hell last week.

“If you don’t find the meal to your liking, William, we can always take it away.”

“No, Sir. It’s fine, Sir,” he grit out through clenched teeth and proceeded to finish the cereal, washing it down with the milky tea. The egg went next. If he didn’t look at it too closely, William could swallow the contents without too much trouble. The bread made it seem less gross. 

Sitting on the corner of the tray was his prize – a large, red apple. Something he could actually sink his teeth into. He bit into it with a smile, relishing the crisp, sharp snap of the skin as his teeth broke through to the juicy flesh.

Under Thing Two’s continued surveillance, William dumped the leftover food into the bin by the sink and washed his dishes and plastic cutlery, putting it all on the tray to be placed outside the door for pick up.

**6:30pm – 6:45pm – Medical Checkup**

Such a waste of time, Will thought as Dr. Mac took note of his weight, blood pressure and heart rate. With the crap they fed him, he was never gonna gain anything. He was handed a small, covered jar and pointed to the loo. With a quick roll of the eyes, William made his little deposit and hopped back up on the table for more fun. Today was Wednesday – one of two vampire days. He flinched as the needle pinched his skin and a small tube of blood was drawn.

Two months of bi-weekly ‘donations’ and he still cringed at the sight of the needle. Will drew small comfort from the fact that they’d finally stopped taking tissue samples.

“So, am I gonna live, Doc?” he quipped bravely as Mac smoothed a plaster over the puncture site.

_Plaster… stupid name for a bandaid. They shoulda called the weetabix plaster, instead._

In spite of the needles, Will considered Mac the closest thing to a friend in this hellhole. “Still got enough blood for you to do whatever it is you do with it?”

“Yes, lad. That’s it for a few more days,” Mac said, tousling the child’s platinum curls. “Now, if you don’t mind… would you spit into this little cup for me? Just pretend you see Wyndam-Pryce’s face in the bottom, and you won’t miss.” His smile was infectious, and Will answered with one of his own.

Nathaniel stiffened. “Really, Mac. That kind of disrespect will get the lad soundly punished.”

For just a moment, Will had forgotten they weren’t alone and startled at the sound of his voice. Yet, there he was… sitting in front of the door, as if William would make a break for it if given half a chance. As if there was anywhere for him to flee to if he tried.

“Ah, give the lad a break, Chalmers.” MacGuire waved off his concern. “This is just between young William and me. He’ll be good for the old man, won’t you, child?”

“That’s easy for you to say, Mac. You’re not the one who’ll have to stand there and watch as he beats the disrespect out of him.”

Will froze. Had he heard right? Had Thing Two actually said something against his boss?

“In the name of all we hold holy, why don’t you stop him?” MacGuire pushed. “Surely you can see…”

Will looked over at Thing Two, anxious to hear his answer, as well.

“It isn’t the right time. If I made a move now, Pryce would simply do away with the child and move on to another project. A false move now wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest.”

Mac shook his head. “We’re both Council born and bred, Chalmers. You can’t tell me that young William is simply a research project, easily discarded and replaced at whim. I get the feeling that this is far more… Pryce is not likely to have another subject with the credentials of this boy.”

“That still won’t stop the man if he gets into a rage. Someone has to stand on the child’s side.”

“Even if it’s on the sidelines, allowing him to be beaten for a trumped-up offence?”

“Even if,” Nate replied softly, looking William directly in the eyes. “Soon, though….”

William stared at the little cup still held in front of his face and spat into it. He wished ‘soon’ meant now.

**7:00pm – 9:00pm –Exercise**

They stood patiently outside the gymnasium as the group of gangly teenagers exited. William bowed his head as he’d been taught, not daring to look directly into the faces of his ‘betters’.

That didn’t stop them from staring at him, though.

“Look at the freak!” jeered one of the larger boys. “Mr. Cool wanna-be,” said one of his mates. “Who does he think he is, dressing all in black? Never seen him in anything else.”

Will clenched his fists and with effort, kept his head down.

“Move along, lads,” Nathaniel encouraged. “Nothing to see here.”

“Yeah, right,” the first boy shot back. “Nothing at all.”

 _Nothing but the freak,_ Will thought, miserably.

Thing Two never voiced it, at least not in so many words as Thing One, but he knew the man didn’t think of him as a normal boy. All that talk of his ‘demon’ gave him away. That everyone was just putting up with the monster that dared to walk among them – pretending to be an equal.

“Stretch your legs and back first, William,” said Thing Two before sitting down in a chair near the door. “Today we work on stamina. Around the room at a fair trot, I’d say… and let’s try to make the full two hours, yes?

_Oh God._

Will did his best to limber up with toe touches and lunges as he’d been taught before taking off for a slow run around the room. He’d made an hour before, and he’d been exhausted when the alarm had finally gone off.

It wasn’t too bad at first. In fact, the first fifty laps or so passed easily. Thing Two had put on some classical music in the background, and it was almost easy to slip into a dream state and ignore his prisoner status.

The second fifty were a bit harder. Will could feel a little wobble in his step. Jelly thighs. How the hell were they going to hold up for two hours with no clue as to how much time had actually passed? He’d also begun to sweat between his shoulder blades, and felt the discomfort as it dripped down his back.

Will wanted to stop – to rub the cramps from his calves and feet, but one look at Thing Two and he thought the better of asking.

“Pick up the pace, lad,” he called out. “You’re not walking around the room, after all.”

Rolling his eyes, Will forced himself to move faster, trying once more to slip away to his dream state; where Mom and Dad were waiting for him. Where people were happy to see him and smiled all the time.

No luck. He could feel his belly tighten uncomfortably and just knew he’d be praying for a bathroom break any moment now. It never failed when he was forced to run for long periods of time.

The damned music was getting on his nerves. Why couldn’t Thing Two put on something with a beat – like the Death March from Star Wars? Will felt like he was gonna fall asleep on his feet – his poor, tired, aching feet – at any moment, and he yawned, stumbling, though not falling to the ground.

“Stamina, William. How do you expect to build yourself up if you give up so easily?”

 _Bet you couldn’t run around the stupid room for two hours._ Where did this guy get off yelling at him from a chair? He was never satisfied until Will fell on his face. Well, not this time. This time he’d show the jerk.

As he passed Thing Two for what must be the millionth time, Will noticed he was sitting back in his chair, eyes closed.

 _Smug bastard._ One thing Will had learned since he’d been kidnapped, was there was freedom to be found in his thoughts. He could curse. He could answer back. At least in his head he could fight to remain himself. One day he swore he would be free again. If nobody ever came for him, he’d get out on his own. 

_Just not yet._

If only he could trust this guy. After the way Mr. Nathaniel Chalmers’d turned on him and his family, Will didn’t think it would ever be possible. Yet there were times ‘Uncle Nate’ was almost nice to him. Less mean, anyway. The problem was Will never knew which man he was going to face.

“That’s it, William,” Thing Two called out. “Don’t give up.”

Sure the man was totally asleep, Will stumbled once more just as his watch alarm sounded, ending the torture session.

He’d been so sure… 

Nate stood up, still calling out orders. “Don’t just stop, William, or your legs will cramp. Walk slowly. Breathe deeply.” He took a stethoscope from his jacket pocket and motioned Will to come closer.

He fell gratefully into the chair, trying to catch a few moments of peace before facing his worst enemy.

**9:00pm – 11:00pm – Education**

William stood in front of Thing One, head lowered and afraid to sit down until given permission. The last time he had sat without being told to… had been the last time he’d been able to sit comfortably for over a week.

“I do hope you’re prepared to apply yourself today, William,” the old man said without looking up. “Rather tired of you wasting my time.”

“Y-yes, Sir.” He tried. He really did, but everything Thing One shoved under his nose seemed to be designed specifically to make him fail – to get him punished… or beaten.

“It’s a simple paragraph in basic Latin. William the Bloody was trained in the classics; Latin and Greek were part of his education. You carry that within you, boy. Let the demon have reign – surely he can read what is on the card. And for God’s sake sit down,” the man thundered, banging his fist on his desk. “I will start you off once again… then I expect you to complete it unaided. It begins: “Mi purgo quod illius mihi humanus est. I cleanse…”

William grabbed at the card on the table, pulling it close. Greek letters, Latin words. He’d been told that over and over again. He just couldn’t make sense of them. He had enough trouble with the beginning Spanish he was taking in school.

Thing One must have thought he was taking too long, as his pointer came smashing down on William’s right hand.

Will bit back his tears and began to recite by rote what little he remembered: “Me purgo quod illius mihi humanum est… I am a monster. I am not a human... I will always be a monster…”

“No, you little fool. Again!”

Once more the pointer cracked down, leaving a welt across the knuckles of his left hand.

“Mi purgo quod illius… I-I am-m un-c-clean,” Will began again. “Nos purgamus…” And stalled.

“Yes, you most assuredly are. We’ve already established that. Now, get on with it.”

The boy remained frozen in place, even as Thing One rained down blow after blow on his hands. William knew the consequences if he dared to move them. Just short of drawing blood, Thing One stopped, leaving both hands welted and already bruising.

This vindictive little smile on the old man’s face made Will more uncomfortable with each passing minute. The welts on his hands throbbed. He couldn’t read Greek, and didn’t know Latin and he was getting a headache as the letters blurred in front of his eyes. Maybe if Thing One would just hit him and get it over with he’d be satisfied.

“It’s become obvious to me, boy, that you have no head for languages. Either that, or you’re playing me for a fool, which I’ll not stand for.” He folded the card in half and motioned for William to stand. “You will work on this passage again as your sole assignment from me, until you get it right, but you will do it on your own time,” he said, tucking the card into the boy’s pocket.

“Y-yes, Sir.

The alarm on Thing One’s watch went off, and William breathed a sigh of relief. That meant Thing Two was outside, waiting to take him for his next ‘lesson’. He must have allowed some hope to show on his face, because the old man took great pleasure in crushing it down.

“A slight change of routine for you today, boy. I will be taking you on a tour of the demon holding-pens today.”

**11:00pm – 12:00 midnight – Know Your Enemy**

_Oh, God. Not again. Please don’t make me go._ One look into the old man’s eyes and Will knew that begging would be useless.

It was different to walking from place to place with Thing Two – Thing One refused to take any chances. He slapped a manacle around Will’s slender wrist and a connecting one around his own as they set off for the lower levels. To further insure his compliance, Will knew they’d be followed by two large guys in tweed trying desperately to blend in with the other Watchers. He’d spotted them weeks ago – the first time Thing One took him out of his rooms.

The closer they got to the holding pens, the more twitchy Will got. He could feel them – the demons being held below – as soon as he set foot on the stairs leading to the pens. They were miserable and angry, emotions that he was more than familiar with.

It wasn’t that William was afraid of the creatures he was being taken to see… it was more the thought that one day, Thing One would climb back up those stairs without him. Will knew he’d rather be dead than become a zoo animal for others to gawk at. Or even worse, totally forgotten.

The first cell held a small, gorilla-like creature covered from head to toe in green fur. A Vreegal, if he remembered correctly. The poor thing had been there the first time William had been dragged down here. It used to growl and jump around in its cage, and now just sat there scratching at itself, pulling out clumps of fur and staring at Will with sad, red-rimmed eyes. Like Whistler. William was glad he was thousands of miles away in the safety of the California sewer system.

The following two cells were empty; the only signs of their previous inhabitants were splatters of rust-colored blood on the walls and floor.

A young man sat in the last cell with his back towards them. Thing One poked him through the bars with his cane and he turned with a vicious roar, teeth bared in full gameface.

Will wasn’t afraid… he was sick to his stomach. In that vampire’s place, he could easily see his father. From all the ranting Thing One did, he was sure if given half a chance, the old man would keep Will’s father in a cell just like this.

“Do you see, William? That’s what the thing you call your father truly is. Nothing but a vicious, vile beast. A filthy demon.”

“No,” Will whispered, unable to restrain himself.

“That’s what you were. A monster, defiler of the innocent. Corruptor of everything that’s pure.”

“No.”

Sure enough, this time retribution was swift. The cane the old man used to walk with smashed against the back of William’s legs, sending the boy to the ground.

“Yes, Spike. William the Bloody,” Thing One ranted, yanking the boy closer to the cage by his manacled wrist. “Look at it, Spike. That’s what is inside of you. Look closely.”

“I never,” Will cried out, unable to stand and unwilling to make the effort. “I don’t remember.” He could feel the vampire’s eyes on him, as well as the Watcher’s.

“Look at it!”

Will did look… and all he saw was a young man who happened to be a vampire. He’d seen his father in gameface hundreds of times since he was a baby… in fact, could pick him out of a million different gamefaces. There was nothing frightening about this one, except that he was behind bars and wanted to get out.

Was his own situation much different from that of the vampire’s?

Thing One unlocked the manacle and kicked him even closer to the vampire’s cage. “Perhaps leaving you alone with the beast will be enough to reach you. To show you the demon’s true colors.”

As soon as the door closed behind the old man, the vampire spoke up.

“Hey, kiddo. What’d you do to piss the bastard off?”

Will looked up, startled to hear an American accent after so long.

“Aw, come on… you can come closer. I won’t bite,” the vamp snickered. “Much.”

“Yeah, right. My dad’s a vampire and he warned me about trusting other vampires.”

“Father? You mean Sire?”

Will shook his head.

The vampire sniffed, scenting the warm blood rushing through the boy’s veins and listened for his heartbeat. “Wait… dude! The old man called you William the Bloody, right? Spike? You used to be, anyway.”

“Am not!” Will denied vehemently.

“Denial much, kid?” The vampire rolled his eyes. “Man, this is like an honor. I’m Pete, by the way. We’re kinda like brothers. My Sire es su Sire. You know… Drusilla?”

“Drusilla?” He’d heard the name before, mostly when his parents thought he was asleep.

“Yeah, man. She’s the one who turned you like ages ago. She always used to talk about you – my fair knight, or somesuch nonsense. I think she knew you were missing.”

“Is she gonna come for us?” Will couldn’t keep the hope and fear out of his voice.

“She’s probably off chasing lightning bugs. Crazy chick doesn’t remember things from one minute to the next.”

“How’d you get… turned? Have you been a vampire very long?”

Pete laughed. “It’s kinda funny, actually. This trip to London was a high school graduation present from the folks. Two days outta New York and I was going back to my hotel from a party and wham! Vamp food.”

“Do _they_ know that? Is that why you’re stuck here in a cage – because of me?”

“Nah, little dude. Don’t worry. They pretty much just snagged me right after my turning.” Pete shook his head. “Our Sire is a bit loopy, and not one for protecting her childer.”

Will was thrilled to have someone willing to talk to him, much less being nice to him and just wanted to keep the conversation going. “Do they ever talk to you? Ask you what you know about things?”

“Nope. They think I’m a monster, as you just saw with the old fart, so that’s what I give ‘em. A bit of the growl and fang. They feed me every now and then. I know, though. I know I’m not gonna get outta here,” Pete said sadly. “But there’s nothing I can do about it… unless one of ‘em gets careless.”

They both sighed, realizing there was no way out of their situations.

“I miss my parents,” Will said.

“And I miss my brat kid sister,” Pete answered. “I was gonna try and find some way to turn her, but these bastards got to me first. Maybe it’s a good thing. Hey! I even miss school.”

“Is it weird that I miss my math teacher? At least she never used to hit me when I got something wrong.”

“It’s all cool,” said Pete. “You miss who you miss.”

Startling them both, the heavy stone door slammed open, and Thing One appeared in all his glowering fury. “You’re just never going to learn about associating with monsters, are you, William? No fear. No respect. This…,” he said, shooting a crossbow bolt into Pete’s heart, “is how you deal with monsters.”

Will shuddered as Pete’s dust hit the floor of his cell; his friendly voice silenced forever. “I hate you,” he said, not even looking at the old man.

“As any demon would,” Thing One replied. “Ashes you were and ashes you’ll be. Mark my words, boy. Nothing remains when a monster is killed. That’s your fate. Unless you change – unless you let us help you.”

**12:00 midnight – 12:30am – Lunch**

Thing One brought William back to his rooms, un-warding the door. He stepped out of the way, allowing Will entry into his rooms and simply left, resetting the wards behind him and not saying a single word.

Will made his way to the bathroom and upchucked what remained of his breakfast into the toilet. After rinsing out his mouth with cold water, he made his way to the sofa and sat down; waiting for Thing Two’s arrival.

**12:30am – 2:30am – Vampire Film/Lecture**

Right on schedule, Thing Two stepped through the doorway. “William,” he called, before seeing the boy sitting on the sofa.

Will looked up at the man’s entrance, then back down at his abused hands folded and still in his lap.

“Why is your lunch tray sitting outside? Did you do something wrong? Is Mr. Wyndam-Pryce punishing you for some infraction?”

He shrugged his shoulders, saying nothing.

“Tell me the truth, lad,” Thing Two said. “No lies now. You won’t be punished for telling me what I want to know. Did he hurt you?”

William held out his hands for inspection.

“So the language lessons didn’t go particularly well, then?”

“No, Sir.”

“What happened, William?”

“Guess I’m just stupid.” Will replied, unsure as to how far he could trust Thing Two with what he really wanted to say. “I must be if I can’t read something Mr. Wyndam-Pryce insists I should know. That’s what he tells me over and over, so he’s gotta be right and I’ve gotta be stupid.”

“What did he ask you to read?”

Will could scarcely believe it. Thing Two was actually listening to him. He stood, painfully fishing the folded card out of his pocked and handed it over.

Thing Two stared at the card and shook his head in disbelief. “He asked you to read the Litany of Saint Vigeous?

_shrug_

“Really, William. Must you be so churlish? I’ve asked you to explain your translating problems.”

“And then I’ll get punished for being disrespectful.” William’s frustration had reached an all time high and he stomped his foot on the floor. “I can’t win here,” he whined, totally fed up with his situation. Pete’s death at Thing One’s hands had driven home his own vulnerability.

“I promise you, lad. I won’t punish you for telling me what’s wrong,” Nathaniel insisted. “I give you my word as a Watcher and a Chalmers.”

 _What more could they do to him?_ Will thought. If they killed him, then it would all be over, anyway. “Fine, I’ll tell you. “He thinks I should be able to read that card without learning how. He says it’s written in Greek, and the language is Latin. They don’t teach that in the fifth grade… and I don’t believe I used to be this Spike vampire he keeps telling me I am.” 

His voice cracked as the words finally tumbled out, heedless of the fact that he could be punished for speaking out against one of his captors. “And even if I was… how am I supposed to know things I don’t even remember?”

“I won’t deny what Mr. Wyndam-Pryce told you, William. You are… were… most definitely a one hundred and thirty year old vampire by the name of William the Bloody – Spike, as he… you… chose to be called. After a major battle, a prophecy decreed you would become human again. That you would become a human infant wasn’t forseen.”

“But it’s not fair! I don’t remember being this Spike, or learning the things he knew. I’m just me,” Will insisted. “Just a ten year old boy. What do you guys want outta me?”

Thing Two’s silence was deafening.

“He took me downstairs again,” Will whispered.

“Again? Down what stairs?” The man looked confused.

“To the demons zoo.”

“Demon zoo? We don’t…” It took him a moment to realize the truth of what the boy was saying. “He took you to the bloody holding pens?”

William was surprised. He’d never seen Thing Two lose control before.

“There was a vampire there – Pete. He left me alone with him. Said I needed to see what I was,” Will shuddered at the memory of the sad young vampire. He had known he was gonna die and just accepted it.

Thing Two’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “It’s name was Pete? It spoke to you?” He pulled William closer, looking into his eyes, “We hadn’t gotten it to say a word in weeks and you held a conversation?”

“He said…” Will hesitated a bit, feeling like he was betraying the vampire, but he had to let it out – make someone realize that Pete wasn’t a monster. Or just a monster. “He – he called us brothers. Said that we were both ch-changed by Drusilla.”

Each new revelation was like a punch in the gut.

“Drusilla’s hunting in London?” was all Thing Two could say, as he sat down on the sofa, side-by-side with Will.

“Pete said she wouldn’t come,” Will said, noticing how upset the man was. “That’s a good thing, right?”

**2:30am – 4:30am – Obstacle Course**

The boy could barely restrain himself from jumping up and down. He was actually being taken outside for the first time since they’d brought him here. Will didn’t dare say a word – he just enjoyed the cool feel of the breeze on his cheeks and air that didn’t smell like sweaty bodies.

He stayed close to Thing Two, not wanting to give the man any reason to end the outing, or have second thoughts about doing this again.

They stopped in front of what looked like a giant playground. A block of connected tires – William had seen guys run through them – one foot in the center of each tire for football practice. And monkeybars! He looked back at Thing Two, waiting for his instructions.

When he’d explained what he wanted William to do, the boy burst into smiles. He ran through the tires, falling and laughing as he got up and continued. He shimmied up the monkey bars and hung from his knees, then turning himself right side up, he practically flew hand over hand from one end of the structure to the other. Looking down, Will was grateful for the foam padding on the ground, which more than once prevented a severe injury when he fell.

There were several other pieces of equipment, some of which were meant for adults, but Will was game. He tried his best. He checked with Thing Two from time to time, and the man actually had a smile on his face when Will answered to his beckoning whistle. It was all the boy could do not to wag his butt and bark, but the freedom was worth any little humiliation.

**4:30am – 6:00am – Self Study**

Gods, he was so _BORED!_ Not to mention hungry. He’d not had much of an appetite after the mess with Pete, but get in a couple of hours of running and climbing in the fresh air and he could eat a horse.

Gross thought of the day… maybe he was eating horse. Some of the meat he’d eaten tasted like nothing that had ever passed his lips before.

William picked up the books Thing Two had left for him – introductory Greek and Latin. With nothing better to do, he sprawled out on the sofa and began to study the Greek alphabet.

**6:00am – 6:30am - Dinner**

This time when the knock came at the door, Thing Two entered with a fully laden tray. Beef pie and mashed potatoes covered in brown gravy, peas and carrots, thick crusty bread… and a can of Orange Tango. Will felt like he’d won the lottery.

Sitting down at the table, he was actually joined by his guardian. Not that he seemed to be paying any attention – he’d brought a newspaper to read, but for just a moment, if Will looked sideways and squinted, he could almost make believe he was sitting down to a normal dinner with family.

**7:00am – 10:00am - Meditation**

Nathaniel placed the large pink quartz on the table in front of William. “I want you to focus your mind on the crystal, lad. Nothing else. Block out all sound; all thoughts… look for the flaw in the center of the stone.”

“Stop fussing over the demon, Chalmers. It knows what it’s supposed to do.”

Thing Two’s jaw tightened at the other’s harsh words. Was it really possible that the man felt sorry for him? Ever since he’d told him about the demon pens, Mr. Chalmers had been… nicer. Like something had shifted.

Will dropped that dangerous line of thinking and stared into the crystal. The sooner he got started, the sooner he’d be able to go back to his room.

He came back to himself some time later – Will knew time had passed, but not how much. Thing One was gone, and Thing Two was staring at him.

_What did I do now?_

**10:00am – Lights Out**

Will was dazed as he allowed Thing Two to lead him back to his rooms from the meditation session. He never knew what it was that made him so tired… what actually went on when his mind drifted off, but he was always exhausted when it was over.

He had a half hour before the lights went out and set about his business. Will relieved himself, showered, brushed his teeth and headed into his bedroom.

Yeah, right. _His!_ Nothing in those rooms was his. They wouldn’t even give him a poster or a calendar to put up on the wall.

Will remembered the time he’d asked Thing Two for a picture. Any picture. Just something to break up the boring walls which were all he had to look at. He’d seemed approachable that day – nicer than usual.

The look he’d gotten had been cold enough to freeze water.

Will held in a wibble and a sniffle, trying to keep himself from crying. Why was he still here? Was anybody looking for him? Did they even miss him?

He looked up at the ceiling and wondered if there was a god that listened to half-demon kids.

“I promise I’ll eat whatever vegetables Mom says are healthy,” he whispered. “Even icky Brussels sprouts. And I’ll tell Connor his bean casseroles smell wonderful.”

Thinking it wouldn’t hurt, William scrambled out of his bed and knelt next to it – a mostly faded memory of bedtime ritual he’d once shared with Lotte, until Mom and Dad requested she stop.

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God bless Mom, Dad, Lotte, Uncle Hugh, Bethany, Auntie Dawn and Connor, Uncle Charles and Auntie Anne, Alonna, Bennie, and CJ. God bless Paddy bear and most of all, God bless Buffy and her friend, Wes.”

He bit his lower lip, struggling with Lotte’s gentle words. She always said you had to pray for people, even if they weren’t nice. Especially when they weren’t very nice, so he settled onto his knees once more.

“God bless Doctor MacGuire, and…Mr. Chalmers… and – and…” He couldn’t get that man’s name past his lips. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ask God to bless Roger Wyndam-Pryce. Will was asking for people he cared about – people he could care about – to be blessed. He decided he had to draw the line somewhere, and Thing One was just several steps too far over it.

God wouldn’t want him to lie, would he? If he were true and honest, maybe he’d be good enough. Maybe God would listen and send someone to help him.

“Please, hear my prayer, God. Help me to be a good boy.”

 _Click_ Lights out.

Will crawled into bed and pulled the duvet over his shoulders.

“Can I rest now?” he whispered and closed his eyes.

***

From behind the monitor, Nate stared at the little boy bundled into his bed for long moments after he flicked the timer switch for the lights. “You’re not alone in this, William,” he murmured. “I’ll help you leash your demon. This I swear.”

Nathaniel turned off his light, left his post and locked the door behind him as he went to bed.


	31. Ghost in the Machinery

Nathaniel placed the large pink quartz on the table in front of William. “I want you to focus your mind on the crystal, lad. Nothing else. Block out all sound; all thoughts… look for the flaw in the center of the stone.”

“Stop fussing over the demon, Chalmers. It knows what it’s supposed to do.”

The younger Watcher’s jaw tightened at Roger Wyndam-Pryce’s harsh words. The old adage of catching more flies with honey than vinegar should apply here.

Will did as he was told and stared into the crystal. He quickly succumbed to the lull of the soft sound emanating from the stone and was soon pliant and open to suggestion, oblivious to the world around him.

They had been trying to reach the boy’s demon side for nearly the entire two months of his incarceration with spectacularly poor results. At most they’d managed to produce only minor agitation in the hypnotized child. That night, however, there was a new element in the mix.

Wyndam-Pryce removed a small, intricately-carved wooden box from his jacket pocket, extricating the pre-filled hypodermic needle and injected the blue fluid directly into the fleshy part of William’s shoulder.

Not even a flinch at the needle’s penetration. Perfect.

“Begin, Chalmers,” the elder Watcher barked. “I’d like to get somewhere with this today.”

“Spirits of the interregnum, we call upon you. Show us the true face beneath the false. Bring forth the heart of the demon essence within this child. Spirits of the interregnum, we beseech thee!”

William simply sat limp in his chair; unmoving and unaffected, as usual.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Nathaniel timed the boy’s breathing and checked his heartbeat. Both were substantially lower than normal due to the combination of hypnosis and drugs. He knew they were playing a fine line here, and it wouldn’t do to let the lad die from simple neglect. An exceptionally watchful eye was called for.

Without warning, the boy jerked backwards in his chair. Will appeared to be unconscious. Eyes closed, he said nothing. Shudders ran through the small frame as he began to emit a high keening sound, not quite human and younger than the body it emerged from.

It wasn’t hostile. The sub-vocal sounds were more of a scared whine than a prelude to an attack, but it made Nathaniel wish he’d had the foresight to have strapped the lad down with ropes or chains. Wyndham-Pryce in his arrogance had been sure the serum was sufficient to control the demon.

Roger leaned over the boy and grabbed a handful of bleached curls, yanking his head backwards. “Show yourself, demon,” he snarled.

Yellow ovoid irises stared back at him, eyes filled with tears. The whimpering increased and a familiar tang filled the air as William’s bladder released.

Triumph flared in the man’s face as he sidestepped the puddle on the floor. “What does it feel like, demon? To be helpless? To be at the mercy of beings stronger than you?”

Hisses and whimpers issued forth, punctuated by an occasional weak growl, but the child/demon made no move.

Wyndam-Pryce, however, backhanded the boy.

“Don’t pretend to be human,” he yelled, obviously irate at the lack of response. “You’re nothing but a vicious beast in human’s clothing.” Another backhand left the child on the floor, curled into himself and sobbing, his clothing soaking up the urine near the chair-leg.

Nathaniel rushed forward, unable to stop himself. He grabbed his one-time mentor about the waist and pulled him away from William, preventing the older man from kicking the prone figure.

“Physical intimidation is uncalled for, Sir.” Nate panted, trying to be as respectful as possible under the circumstances while physically restraining his superior. “The creature we’ve managed to call forth seems to be exceptionally immature. Perhaps pre-verbal. It might not understand anything you’ve said so far.”

A bright blue aura surrounded the boy. The Watchers’ breath huffed out in misty puffs of condensed moisture as the temperature in the room dropped considerably.

Will uncurled from the fetal position he’d held and stood, staring at Roger Wyndam-Pryce with opaque blue eyes. Cocking his head in an awkward, sideways position, he began to speak.

“How dare you touch that which is not yours, filthy human?” an imperious voice resounded from the child’s mouth. Definitely not the demon initially contacted, and most assuredly not William’s own. “The half-breed is one of my Chosen, therefore under my protection. I will not allow such muck as you to defile him further.”

“How dare you…” the elder man sputtered. “You interfere with things above your station, demon. Be gone. You are not welcome here.” He drew himself up to his full height, preparing to deal with the demon interloper.

Illyria-William advanced on him with an awkward gait, as if unused to his body; much like a praying mantis with its eyes fully focused on its prey.

“How dare I? You subjugate your own young with a casual cruelty I’ve not seen since I first walked between dimensions and you object to my defense of my pet?” Illyria-William sneered, the effect intimidating enough that the Watcher stepped back. “You are too far beneath me, human, to understand the full glory of my being. My name is high and well known amongst the Old Ones. I was before the dawn of time and will be again after its demise.”

A frigid blast of wind swept through the office, causing books to fly from shelves and papers to swirl from the desk, despite Nathaniel’s best efforts to hold them down.

“The demon you seek has been cleansed and granted clemency for its prior actions,” the creature wearing William’s skin continued. “How dare you put your needs before those of Powers far greater than yours?”

“That demon deserves to rot in hell where it was spawned.”

“And all humans are barely above the ooze that used to squish between my toes yet I do not smite you from this plane of existence,” Illyria-William intoned.

“You must be here for a reason, Old One,” Nathaniel cut in. _Apart from defending the lad in their custody._ “Perhaps you will tell us what it is that brings you here for this demon-child.”

William rounded on Nathaniel head-first, body following almost as an afterthought. “So it speaks for itself, finally. Tell me, weakling. By mere association with _that_ one, you condemn yourself. Do you have the fortitude to stand up for what is right in defense of the innocent?”

Power rolled off the boy’s small frame in waves. Nate calculated the risks involved in taking down the creature whilst it was hampered by the weaknesses of its container.

“You cannot think to defeat me, puling human. Your very silence condemns you.” Turning back to Roger Wyndam-Pryce, the William-creature shuddered once, twice, before stabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. “I grow weary of your obtuse nature and refusal to see beyond your limited viewpoints. I will send an emissary in my place – perhaps he will make you understand the errors in your judgment.”

William fell to his knees, moaning as they impacted with the floor. When he rose, his movements were far more human, and his eyes… gone were the opaque blue irises of the demon. In their place was a pair of totally human blue eyes, though not the boy’s natural color.

They sought out Nathaniel.

“This really needs to stop, Sir.” William’s voice was soft and beseeching… and somewhat familiar. “It is nothing short of a power-play for your own, personal agenda.”

“False words from a demon emissary,” Roger Wyndam-Pryce gritted out through clenched teeth.

“No, Sir. They’re mine, alone.”

Nate drew up short at the soft, cultured tones coming from the boy’s mouth. _No, it couldn’t be…_ Over the years of the boy’s schooling, he’d come to recognize his posture, as well as the cadence of his speech. Hearing it from William brought back the memories in clear focus.

“I died, Father, yet I am being allowed to speak on the behalf of this child.”

_Bloody hell. It is!_

“Father…?” Wyndam-Pryce looked apoplectic. “What kind of demon trickery is this?”

“No trickery, Sir,” Wesley/William replied. “When a God mourns a mortal, that mortal is not allowed the peace of the afterlife. When a God has affection for a demon, it is protected. It is coveted as a prized possession, for it belongs to a God… an Old One. The demon you have been torturing – not to mention the child it is entwined with – is a favored pet of Illyria, God-King of the primordium.”

Nathaniel had been focused on William for the past few moments. He’d become lost in his old memories and could well imagine the boy growing thinner and taller; his hair darkening; a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose…

“Wesley,” he murmured. “Is that really you?”

Once his colleague had articulated the truth, Roger was forced to accept what was playing out in front of him. “How dare you defile my son’s memory by manifesting in this abomination?”

Wesley-William smiled; condescension visible in eyes that seemed so much older than their ten years.

“You haven’t changed an iota, have you, Father? Remember the cupboard? It was one of your favourite places for me when I’d not do your bidding quickly enough, or failed you in some other perceived way.”

“I raised my son with the best of intentions.”

The possessed child’s blue eyes flashed, and he pointed an accusatory finger at the older Watcher. “You did what was best for _you_ , Sir. You hid me away when I failed to live up to impossible standards. Standards you held nobody else to, I might add. I allowed you do those things to me out of ignorance. I will not allow you to continue to do them to another child. To an innocent.”

Roger Wyndam-Pryce couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice as he looked past his son’s spirit towards the younger Watcher. “They weren’t impossible demands. Not for those with the fortitude to see them through. Unlike…”

“Yes, I know, Father. Unlike me. It was always easier for you to help others. To show them and guide them along the way. I had to do it all on my own – to live up to the great Wyndam-Pryce legacy. To be worthy of being called your son. Yet, when I did manage to accomplish one of your more onerous tasks, you simply shook your head, as if I’d finally learned how to keep my nose clean.”

“Don’t you dare speak like that, boy. Not to me!”

“You can’t intimidate me any longer, Father. You held very little sway over the last years of my life. You hold no dominion over me now that I’m dead.”

“Then what the bloody hell are you doing here except to bedevil me?”

The man had turned an unhealthy shade of red, and Nathaniel began to worry for his heart.

“I’ve come to ask that you return the boy to his parents post-haste.”

“Warn us?”

“Ah, yes. Nathaniel.” Wesley-William rounded on the younger Watcher. “Perhaps you’ll listen to reason. You always were rather bright… at least according to Father. Young William is a special case. Unique amongst vampires in that he sought out his human soul and fought to repossess it. Alone in the fact, that unsouled, his demon fought alongside the Council’s Slayer…”

“One that _you_ failed to control.” Roger Wyndam-Pryce spat. “You became the Council’s biggest source of embarrassment.”

“Gentlemen, if you please? Time is of the essence. You need to remember this demon also fought against demons despite the bull’s-eye it painted on his back. Without a soul to urge him onwards. Rather remarkable, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Father?”

The man’s silence was deafening.

“Under dire circumstances, this newly-ensouled demon sacrificed his existence for both the Slayer he’d come to admire and the rest of humanity. The very Powers That Be held him to be special enough to redeem both demon and man. They are both as innocent as any human on the day of their birth. Not just the man, Nathaniel,” Wesley-William pressed. “But the demon as well. This is most significant.”

Roger scoffed.

“The demon was cleansed of all its sins, of all its wrongdoings. It knows no evil beyond what the two of you have introduced it to. It’s a baby, Father. What you’re doing is teaching it to distrust mankind all over again. You’re making the very situation you want to avoid – enmity between demons and humans.”

“It’s a monster,” the man insisted, turning his back on William.

“And yet, I have thought that of you, as well.” Wesley’s expressions were shaped by the child’s face, but were easily recognizable by those who knew him. “I never thought to survive my childhood.”

“Liar!” he roared, losing control of his emotions for the first time. “Even dead you mock me and belittle my work. Your mother would have smothered you in pap and allowed you to be weaker than you already were. You were strong because of me, boy. You survived because of what I taught you.”

“But you see, I haven’t survived. I’m dead because of what you failed to teach me.”

“I obviously failed to teach you not to work for demons.”

“No, Father. You failed to teach me how to trust myself. You failed to teach me that family has a heart of its own,” Wesley-William sighed. “That boy has a destiny and you’re keeping him away from it.”

“Good!”

“Father!”

“Roger!” Nathaniel’s consternation echoed that of the spirit.

“I came here to beseech you on behalf of the greater good, not to argue the failures of my upbringing.” Wesley’s voice rose as William’s body began to tremble. “My time is growing short here and I need to relay a warning. A final warning. Release the boy. Let him go home and find his way amongst those who love him.”

“Or what? You’ll haunt me?”

“The vampire who fought for his soul was made human for a reason. His soul had been given a choice – to pass on his final destination; to rest in heaven. To find the peace and love he’d craved in life and unlife or come back here… to be reborn.”

 _What the bloody hell is he going on about? Powers?_ Nate knew he would have to get back to this – try to contact either the demon or Wesley again, privately, for a metaphysical discussion, if he had the time.

“He had been informed that upon his return he would find the love of family, yet suffer pain and heartache. In compensation, however… those he loved would find a longer, richer life on earth. Again, he made the selfless choice. Again, he put the wellbeing of others above his own. You are a part of that pain and suffering, Father, and it must stop. Now.”

This time it was Roger pointing the accusatory finger. “You… you lie! The real… my son… Wesley would not speak such twaddle. Powers that Be. Choices as to heaven or being reborn. Ludicrous nonsense – a demon’s ravings.”

“I’ve never been more myself, Father. To you, I was a ghost long before I died.” With a sad shake of his head, Wesley-William’s voice faded away, and the boy’s own eye color reasserted itself. He sat down on the chair he’d started out in, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors.

As at the beginning, William jerked backwards once more, his body convulsing.

“Roger, you must administer the antidote, immediately. The lad’s been under too long.” Nathaniel feared that the child had been pushed past his physical limits.

The box containing a second syringe dropped from the old man’s nerveless fingers. He turned and left the room, showing no regard for the flailing boy – the subject of his hatred and disdain.

Nathaniel quickly retrieved the syringe and emptied its contents into William’s arm. Within seconds, the tremors had ceased and the boy collapsed into his arms.

***

William awoke with a jerk, feeling oddly displaced to find himself wearing different clothing and in his own bed instead of Thing One’s office. Thing Two was sitting in a chair next to the bed, staring at him.

_What did I do now?_


	32. Missing Links

It was late – maybe one o’clock in the morning – and Dawn was tired. This little trip to London had taken just about the last of her savings and the thought of having to face the man who’d kept more secrets from her than Angel turned up the level on her cranky-meter. This whole situation would have been unnecessary if Giles would only have returned her repeated phone messages.

Why was he being so difficult? After all, she was the injured party. She was the one lied to and misled. Was it simply a matter of not counting anymore because Buffy wasn’t around? It bordered on cruelty when he stopped forwarding Will’s letters… the child had made a habit of answering her letters within a two week period since he could write. But then… he had to get petty and stop depositing her paycheck into her checking account. Was he trying to provoke a face-to-face confrontation? And if so, why couldn’t she make an appointment to see him?

 _Thank God for twenty-four hour internet-cafés,_ Dawn groaned as she shouldered her way through the door. _Links_ had been her bolt hole during her first trip to London… when she’d needed to get away from her sister and Council life. And her feelings. Now, of course, it was a familiar place to get in touch with old friends. Those that she was still speaking to, at any rate – the list had grown alarmingly short.

She waved her permanent member status card at the cashier, accepting a plastic circlet stamped with the number seven. _Links_ had the advantage over other cafés in that they had several private rooms, not only rows of individual computer stations. Dawn quickly affixed the ‘occupied’ disc to the doorknob, set her duffel bag down and hastily set up her laptop. Maybe… just maybe… there would be a reply to her emails.

Dawn rolled her eyes as she deleted the obligatory ‘enhance the size of your penis’ and ‘keep it up all night’ spam clogging her inbox. Next went the forwards from Petra, her neighbor, The woman felt obliged to send her every. single. joke. that crossed her computer screen. And that left? Nothing. Not a word from Will, nothing from Giles or…

With a sigh, Dawn rested her head on her arms. Even after five years she still looked for emails from Connor. It’s not like he hadn’t tried. For the first year he bombarded her inbox with entreaties in the subject line. Eventually Dawn placed anything from Connor in a filter that sent them straight to the trash.

The stubborn bug hadn’t just bitten the older Summers daughter, that’s for sure.

And it wasn’t as if she was totally hard-assed about the situation. There was an entire folder full of drafted emails that she just never sent. Once the words were on the screen, Dawn couldn’t delete them, either, and now they just sat there. Daring her to push ‘enter’ and end the damned cold war.

 _Ping_ The familiar sound denoting new email sounded just as Dawn prepared to log off.

“Terrific,” she grumbled. “Probably just another stupid ad to re-grow hair and make me more attractive to the woman in my life.” Still, Dawn couldn’t resist checking her inbox one more time.

Her finger flew to the screen – as if she needed to touch the name to believe it was real.

Xander.

Xander Harris.

The last time they’d spoken had been more than four years ago, when she was hurting so badly over leaving Will and Connor behind. It hadn’t been the world’s most pleasant conversation; Xander had refused to give an inch in his Spike hatred, and his bitterness towards life in general nearly pulled Dawn under in her depressed state.

Her hand hovered – to click or not to click? That was the question.

The contents of the email were slightly anti-climactic. Nothing but a Skype number and two simple words.

“Call me.”

Dawn plugged in her mic and hastily tapped the number into the keypad, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans as she waited for him to pick up.

“Harris.” Sleepy annoyance echoed through the mic.

“Xan? Is that really you?” Butterflies threatened to bring up the last meal she’d eaten. Dawn could barely remember feeling this nervous when she’d crushed on the guy as a younger child – BS, that is. Before Spike.

“Dawn?” _yawn_ “Do you know what time it is?”

She checked her watch, then realized she wasn’t wearing one. “Um… oops? But since you’re already up… considering how long it’s been since I’ve heard from you, I thought it might be important.”

Dawn giggled as yet another yawn came through the mic.

“That email went out hours ago. Not my fault it took so long for you to get it. I guess just missing you isn’t all that…”

“God, Xander. I miss you so much. I-I do, honest. And people I care about are always important to me. It’s just…” Dawn sighed, not wanting to complicate things. “…we haven’t spoken in nearly four years, and I was sorta wondering why now? Things are in a bit of a pickle at the moment.”

“I’m kinda leaving Africa,” Xander said, softly. “Guess I just… I can’t do the hide-y thing anymore.”

“Are you okay?” Dawn’s bullshit meter was registering high on Xander time. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I had… an accident,” he admitted.

 _Aha! I knew it!_ “What? Did you piss off a herd of elephants? Are there little half-Xander half-lion babies roaming around the Serengeti and Papa Lion took a swipe at you? Spill, Xander.”

The resounding silence told her she wasn’t going to get anything out of her old friend.

“All right, then. Be all stoic-y and keep me in the dark,” Dawn muttered. “Maybe I’ll call Willow and guilt her into telling me…”

“You can’t.”

“What do you mean, I can’t?”

“Willow hasn’t been reachable for a long time,” Xander sighed. “Last I heard she was off on a mission… something to do with… with… Buffy.”

 _This is sooo not of the good._ “Where are you going to go? And… and can you get there by yourself?” Dawn anxiously chewed at her lower lip. She could hear what it took for Xander to admit that he needed a way out.

“London, I guess,” he finally said. “Ask Giles for another job – behind a nice, safe desk this time.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to make arrangements? I mean, I’m here. In London. Now.” Dawn tripped over her words in her enthusiasm. “I’ve been trying to reach Giles for a month and the stupid Council seems to have closed ranks all around him. He won’t even return my phone calls.”

Xander seemed to mull over that little tidbit of information before replying: “Huh! I thought it was just me. He hasn’t returned my calls, either.”

“Now this is freaking me out. First, Giles is unreachable. Now you tell me Willow’s pulled a vanishing act. And I’m not getting any letters from Will. It’s been nearly three months, and he’s never gone so long without writing back to me.”

“Oh.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. She could tell just how worried Xander was over _that_ fact, but pushed on, anyway. “Look, Xan…”

He cut her off immediately. “Dawn, I’m _not_ gonna talk about Spike right now. I really, really don’t want to hear about a demon who murdered thousands of people and got away with it scott-free.”

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t ever bring up Anya, huh?” she retaliated, stung by how very little compassion he had. She knew it was a low blow, but damn it all to hell, Spike was just as important to her.

“Don’t you dare compare Anya to that… that…”

“What, Xan,” Dawn taunted. “That vampire who gave his life to save the world? Twice? As opposed to the Vengeance demon who killed multitudes of men in the most painful ways possible for over a thousand years and reveled in it?”

“She wasn’t a demon at the end, Dawn,” he insisted. “She stopped being a demon. It was her choice. Why don’t you understand that?”

“And so did Spike!”

“What are you talking about, Dawn? Last time I bothered to listen to one of your Spike rants, you told me that he’d died yet again and left a son. Deadboy Junior, just like Deadboy – the vamp didn’t fall far from the vein. And as for leaving Angel’s clutches? Good for you.”

Dawn took a deep breath to calm her nerves and tamp down her anger. “Spike’s alive.”

“He was, in that vampire-y way of being undead.”

“Listen to me, Xander. Really listen this time,” Dawn begged. “Will wasn’t Spike’s son. He was Spike… and they never told me. Not Giles, not Willow, not Angel and not Connor… nobody! That’s why I left.”

“Not making it better here, Dawnie.”

“He was my friend, Xander. And Buffy’s…”

Xander’s angry roar shook the mic. “He tried to rape your sister. You weren’t the one to find her on the bathroom floor, all bruised and crying. I did. Me.”

“Gods, you’re still going on about that? Xander, get over it. Buffy did, ages ago. Before… before… well, we spoke about it, and that’s not what Spike tried to do. You just refuse to see anything good in him. Why the hell did you want me to call if you can’t or won’t listen to anything I have to say?” Dawn cried, swiping at her eyes, furiously. “Why can’t you get over the fact that Buffy never wanted in your pants?”

“And you guys wonder why I don’t call more often,” Xander replied, his voice low and tired.

Dawn wouldn’t apologize, damn it. She wasn’t in the wrong. “Would you prefer it if we stopped talking to each other? For good? I thought we were friends, Xan,” she said softly. “I can’t take losing one more person in my life, but if you can’t… if you won’t…”

“I didn’t mean… shit. Dawn, what happened to us? All of us? How did the Scoobies get so scattered?”

“Well, you stayed the bigot you’d turned into?”

Dawn almost laughed at his squawk of indignation.

“I’m not a bigot!” Xander blustered. “I just don’t like vampires. Since when is that a bad thing? You know… I thought I was talking to the sister of the vampire _Slayer!!_ ”

“Not only vampires, Xan,” Dawn barked back, giving as good as she got. “You hate demons of any kind. In our world, you know… you learn that things aren’t black and white. I thought you’d grown up… instead, all you’ve done is grown older and more bitter.”

“You know that’s not true, I don’t hate all demons. I even keep in touch with Clem,” Xander insisted. “Well, he emails me constantly, and his smilies turn to frownies if I don’t reply. It’s like ignoring a puppy.”

Dawn snorted. “I don’t know why Clem even bothers with you. He was Spike’s best friend.”

“I live near a couple of his cousins. They like the heat – says it’s good for keeping their wrinklies from chafing… and that’s way too much info for me.”

“I’m so close to giving up on you, Xander,” Dawn sighed, finally feeling the weight of her travels and the loss of close friends and family. “It’s not acceptable anymore, this hate you have on for Spike. The Powers that Be felt he was redeemed enough in their eyes to give him yet another chance – a rush-job-reincarnation. He was reborn an innocent baby… and he’s now a beautiful ten year old boy. How can you continue to hold such a grudge? Isn’t there an ounce of compassion left in you?” Once more going for the low blow, hopefully reaching her old friend, she said: “Anya would have been thrilled at Spike’s reward.”

“I don’t hold a grudge. I just don’t see why I should be happy Spike’s back again, while Anya’s gone,” he said, his stubborn nature not giving sway.

“But that’s not Spike’s fault. You can’t blame him for her dying and staying dead, Xan.” Damn it! One more negative snipe and the mic was gonna get snapped in two. “She’s dead. I miss her, too. But Anya’s dead and she’s just not coming back.”

The sounds of Xander’s quiet sobbing broke her heart. If only she could pull a Willow and teleport. Sometimes nothing worked as well as a hug.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Xan,” Dawn allowed. “…but maybe now you’ll have just a smidgeon of understanding about what I feel for Spike… and William. Wouldn’t you like to be able to talk to me about Anya? Tell me what was good and right with her in spite of her history? Maybe you’d like me to care that you’re hurting over her loss. Why can’t I expect the same thing from my friend?”

“Anya’s dead, Dawn. You’ve driven in that nail real well today. She’s dead, and there’s nothing I can do to bring her back. Nothing.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I tried, you know. Tried to have her raised, and failed, of course. Why is she so much less worthy than a bloodsucker?”

Anger burned in Dawn’s gullet. She couldn’t believe he’d gone that route again. “Haven’t you learned anything from what you and the others did to Buffy?” she fumed. “Maybe Anya’s in a better place… did you even think of that? Would you really want to be responsible for dragging another soul out of heaven?”

_Silence_

“Xander?”

“But… what if she’s not? In heaven, I mean,” he whispered. “She tried so hard… she was so damned _earnest_ about being human… but…”

“But you don’t like thinking that maybe she’d been judged and found lacking?”

_More silence_

Dawn’s heart broke a little bit more. This would explain a lot of his hostility. He was afraid to acknowledge Anya’s death because her past probably condemned her to eternal suffering in hell. Or one of many hells.

“I miss her, Dawnie. I just can’t…”

“I miss Buffy,” she said, trying to take the burden onto her shoulders. “I miss my mom, and I miss Spike… I’ve cut myself off from everyone, Xander. Thanks to their lies and the whole statue business, I feel like I’m all alone out here. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“You won’t, I promise. I know I piss you off, but I can’t do this alone, either. Not anymore.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Dawn sighed deeply, pretty much at a loss. “I haven’t heard from Will in so long, or Giles, so I don’t know if the kid’s stopped writing, or if Giles is mad and just not forwarding his mail. I’m really worried, Xan. What if something’s happened to them?”

“Wouldn’t Deadboy have called you if his bra… kid was missing?”

This time the silence was on her part, then…

“I’m not talking to Angel,” she said. “Or Connor. Or Willow, or Giles, or Gunn or Hugh. Everyone knew, damn it. They all knew how much Spike meant to me, and they lied to my face. For years. I’ll never speak with any of them again. At least not willingly,” she grudgingly admitted.

“Do you love Connor?”

 _Huh?_ I – I did when I left. I guess I always will.”

“Then I think you should call him if you’re so worried.”

Dawn swallowed hard, the butterflies threatening a massive jailbreak. “I-I’ve wanted to call him… but I can’t. How can I ever trust him again, Xander? He was my heart – he knew more than anyone…” She stopped her own diatribe – it was useless to repeat herself yet again.

“You know, I’m gonna tell you something you might wanna to listen to, Dawnster. I missed out on an entire year with Anya. More than a year that we could have spent together playing Happy Marrieds. If I hadn’t wussed out and been too much of a coward. Don’t make the same mistake I did. Go to Connor – or call him. Email him if it makes you more comfortable for first contact. Let him grovel; let him whimper; make him crawl… but take him back. No matter what, he probably misses you as much as you miss him.”

“And you’ve gone all ‘Dear Xanny’ on me ‘cause I’m worried about Will?” Dawn sniffled, unable to believe what Mr. Avoido was telling her to do.

“I can’t pretend to care about Spike, Dawnie, but I do care about you,” Xander said, his voice gaining in conviction with each word spoken. “This whole anger trip you’ve got going is hurting you, and you don’t deserve to suffer. Not for their lies.”

His last words chilled her to the bone.

“Don’t turn into me.”

***

The warmth of the body beside him lulled Connor into remaining half-asleep. He could hardly believe his good fortune. Dawn had walked back into his life last night and they’d spent hours together; re-acquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. He snuggled closer into a tight spoon behind her, relishing the warmth she brought to his heart… to his bed.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, stroking his way down to her breast. There was nothing he enjoyed more than waking up with a palmful of his beloved’s smooth flesh; her small nipple crinkling under the pads of his fingers.

So what if he couldn’t exactly recall the exact circumstances of her return. Connor remembered the bar; the loud music; the wonderful feeling when the despair that had a stranglehold on his heart for the past five years had dispersed like clouds after a rainstorm. It was enough that she came back to him and they’d celebrated big time.

Something didn’t feel quite right as he wriggled against Dawn’s behind, trying to find the comfortable position they’d always managed before. For one thing, there was more rump than he’d remembered. Had she put on that much weight? And the breast under his hand felt wrong, as well. Dawn might have been very nicely endowed, but this…

Slowly Connor opened his eyes and gasped.

The woman stayed asleep even as he sat up in shock. His head ached and the room swam. Man, he must have really tied one on last night. Connor tried desperately to remember. He’d started off with a few beers, nothing special. And then came the Jack… followed by the Tequila… and then… Dawn. Or so he’d thought.

Sure enough, the woman lying in his bed had long brown hair, but that was where the similarity ended. Her skin was darker – Mexican, perhaps. She was also twice the size. Plump and soft, pretty – just not Dawn.

_What the fuck did I do?_

He held back the sob trying to tear its way out of his throat. How could he use another soul to soothe his broken spirit? Connor clutched at his aching head as he eased his way out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

After relieving himself, Connor glanced into the mirror above the sink. Stubble, of course, and red, swollen, demony eyes staring back at him. He quickly ran a sink full of cold water and tried to wash away the evidence of a too-hard night.

“Connor?” the woman called from his bed. “Are you okay in there?”

He hung his head and let the tears fall.

***

Emotionally exhausted after her discussion with Xander, Dawn pulled up her Drafts folder. More than sixty emails sat gathering nothing but cyber-dust. Once a month during her five year self-imposed exile, she’d written to Connor, telling him she’d listen to his explanations. Yet every time she went to press the send button, she’d banish the email to draft status.

“Can’t break tradition now, I suppose,” she muttered, and quickly tapped out another email. As her finger loomed over the mouse, preparing to click send, a cool hand grasped her shoulder.

“Hello, dearie,” the softly-spoken words chilled the delicate flesh of her ear. “Seems our young Knight has gone missing and needs his Lady to help him find his way home.”

The pressure on her shoulder increased painfully.

“And you’re going to help me, aren’t you? There’s a good girl.”


	33. Change of Pace

**Four Months Into William’s Captivity**

Nate held a stopwatch, checking the lad’s progress as William performed his laps in the Olympic-sized swimming pool. Buoys strung on nylon rope delineated the lane he was to keep in, and a pacing duck raced along the left side, silently urging the child to keep up. His easy stroke and calm expression showed the lack of strain on his part. Either they would have to up the number of laps, or increase the speed to push William closer to his potential.

Building a heated enclosure around the pool had been his father’s idea when Nate, himself was a child, and all the Chalmers children had enjoyed many a cold winter’s day swimming like seals. Nate enjoyed a small, private chuckle, remembering some of the happier moments of his childhood.

“Look at him, Father… he’s setting a faster pace than he was two weeks ago. The lad’s at forty laps now and showing no sign of lagging or struggle.”

“Yes,” the elder Chalmers agreed, setting up a round of drinks as he watched William’s progress from one end of the pool to the other, over and over again. “It is truly amazing. Such potential, and he’s yet so undeveloped. One can only imagine what he’ll be capable of at maturity.”

“This only proves my point,” Nate said. “Wyndam-Pryce had the wrong approach. Little more than a month has passed with proper food, exercise, and incentives and the lad is positively thriving.” Bringing his whistle to his lips, Nate blew three sharp blasts to catch William’s attention.

“Five more laps, boy, then cool off for a bit. Your drink will be waiting for you.”

William nodded, and then resumed his workout.

“He does seem to respond well to the reward system,” Nathaniel agreed. “I told you – give the lad a bit of what he’s asking for, and he’ll think you’ve given him the moon. He’s bright enough to contrast his prior treatment to what he has now.”

“He’s certainly less of a stroppy brat than before. Hardly ever mopes about his old life anymore. I think the diary you gave him was a brilliant idea. It provides a major insight into his thought processes,” Nate mused. “Even his studies are going at a better pace now that Wyndam-Pryce has been removed from the equation. I just don’t understand what that man had been thinking.”

Nate remembered that fateful day – the presentation of William to the full ruling board, minus Giles, of course. The lad’s schedule had been brutal, and he was exhausted. Still, Wyndam-Pryce had insisted it had been the proper time.

He, himself, had wanted to keep William sequestered until the presentation of materials and statistics was finished, letting him nap in the wings. Roger, however, wouldn’t hear of it. No matter how he argued his case, the old man was dead-set on having the boy watch it all… even the films.

The Council footage was truly horrific. The massacre at the orphanage. Spike and his paramour, Drusilla – covered in blood – and the screams of the children as they died. Upsetting enough for the adults in attendance, but for a child – a child who knew that he was one of the monsters on the screen before him… the image of Spike handing a squalling infant over to his lover for a quick snack… was too much.

And it had been just what Nate needed

Throughout the presentation, the boy was taunted and prodded by that damned stick of Wyndam-Pryce; trying to provoke a hostile reaction, yet he sat there – eyes wide – looking more and more queasy as the film went on.

Whenever William tried to close his eyes or look away, Roger would grip his hand hard, and squeeze. Nate knew he wasn’t the only person to have seen it. The boy was silently crying before the film was half over.

Wyndam-Pryce had saved the worst for last – his contribution to the presentation. The films of Angel and Connor. The child broke, then, watching his father slit his brother’s throat. He sobbed, crying out and calling Wyndam-Pryce a liar.

“But he did, boy,” the old man had sneered, eyes ablaze with venom. “That monster you call your father taught you everything you knew about being a monster. And if we hadn’t taken you from him, he would have done it to you all over again. See how easily he disposed of his child? It just proves how little the beast cares for family connections. You’re better off with us, boy. Better, by far.”

Instead of becoming violent as Wyndam-Pryce had intended, to show the board that they had been right in trying to leash the beast within and contain him, William went silent. More than silent; the child was virtually catatonic.

From the lectern, there was little that Nate could do to reach the boy, and the situation still needed to be pushed just that little bit further. He stood his ground, holding onto the wood in front of him, trying to maintain his own control. His eyes never left those of his one-time mentor, watching as the anger mounted in the man’s eyes.

Sure enough, Wyndam-Pryce dragged the child up to the lectern and began to rant – to ram his points across where finesse would have sufficed. He pulled and shoved the unresisting boy around the stage, grabbing his head and forcing him to look towards the screen from time to time. When no reaction was forthcoming, he slapped the boy across the face to the sharp gasps of the audience. Before he could raise his arm a second time, Nate had interfered, hauling William over his shoulder and taking him out of the hall.

A meeting had been called the next day, and Roger Wyndam-Pryce had been removed from the project. He’d been given enough rope and had hung himself.

Nate had known that even the Council, even with all its harsh adherence to structure and guidelines in order to achieve its goals, would not condone the mistreatment of a child in its presence.

“Hey, Mr. Chalmers!” Will had emerged from the pool, his laps completed. “Sorry if I woke you,” he laughed, shaking himself all over; shedding water like a puppy. “How much longer before lunch?”

“About half an hour of free-play, William. Just make sure you have your drink, first,” Nate said, pushing a fruity concoction towards the edge of the table. “You must keep your strength up.”

Will drank the contents of the glass down, no longer noticing the strange mineral taste of the dehydrated blood mixed with nearly everything he ate or drank. He wasn’t getting ill from the supplement; the now-weekly blood tests confirmed the child to be the very picture of perfect health.

Wyndam-Pryce had been insisting drinking the blood in its normal form would be more fitting for a vampire-child, but Nate couldn’t see it. William might very well have a demon residing in his body, but it was sublimated deeply. Everything had to be adjusted and made palatable to its human host. After all, it was that very humanity that had to be carefully manipulated into working with and for the Council.

Subtle changes in the lad’s speed, strength and stamina had begun to manifest, and additional repetitions were added to his workout to push him further each week. Nate wondered how long it would take for William to catch on. He was not a stupid child, as his acumen with languages had proven. All it had taken was a firm hand with actual lessons and the boy had picked up both Latin and Greek with startling proficiency.

William’s physical prowess was slayer-like, only slow-forming instead of all at once. His eyesight and hearing had sharpened slightly as well. Nate wondered if the changes had been brought on by the blood supplementing his diet, or simply a matter of advancing maturity. Either way, it would be carefully monitored and recorded.

Shaking Nate from his thoughts, the elder Chalmers said: “Last night’s phone call to Hugh seems to have lifted the boy’s spirits. Does he still insist on speaking with the demon and his wife?”

“Perfunctorily, Father. However, I do believe I noticed flecks of amber in young William’s eyes when his request was refused last night, even though he held his tongue and let the matter drop. There might still be a little wellspring of hope that he’ll be allowed to leave. Time will eventually disabuse him of that notion.”

Nathaniel nodded sadly. “Perhaps it would be beneficial to let him talk to the mother figure? To use it as another reward for reaching a difficult goal?”

“Maybe in the future,” the younger Chalmers acquiesced. Nate didn’t tell his father that this was a request he never intended to grant. The bond with his ‘mother’ was too strong to risk reconnecting. Allowing William to speak with her could destroy all they’d managed to accomplish with the boy.

Once more his eyes turned to the pool, watching as William frolicked in the heated water. Every day there were more rumors of Slayers gone bad. Soon, though… soon they’d have the perfect weapon. A vampire/human hybrid with the instincts to kill rogues, and none of the weaknesses that would keep his kind at bay during daylight hours. Time would tell, he thought. There were years ahead of him in which to mould the lad into his image.

***

Nathaniel stood as his daughter slowly and carefully approached the pool area, carrying luncheon from the cook’s serving area.

William wasted no time in rushing past the elder man, taking two heavily laden plates from her hands and setting them down on the table.

“Thank you, kind Sir,” Lydia said, stiffly bowing as low as her aching spine would allow. “Nice to see someone with proper manners.”

The boy smiled, which only seemed to make Lydia happier. It was one of the few reasons they were now allowed to interact. The look on Lydia’s face when William was around; the way he seemed to ease her worries and make her forget her pain… there were precious few things capable of creating those reactions, and Nate valued them all.

“Lydia,” her father chastised. “You know we have servants for this sort of thing. There was no need for you to tire yourself out.”

“I may be a cripple, Father, but I am no longer an invalid,” she shot back, stiffly settling her aching body onto one of the webbed chairs. She smiled at William, and patently ignored the younger Chalmers. She’d obviously not forgiven him for the lad’s predicament, no matter the change in his day-to-day circumstances.

Despite the intended insult, Nate smiled. The boy had shown an inordinate fondness for his sister, perhaps latching onto her as a mother substitute. With a little luck, Nate would work out how to exploit it sometime down the road.

Lydia didn’t mind William’s help. He and her young assistant, Gayle, were the only two allowed to ease her burdens without risking her wrath. 

William bit into his burger with gusto. There was nothing that perked up the boy’s appetite more than a bit of American-style food. They were trying to broaden his palate with heartier British fare – more meat pies and blood puddings – but burgers, hot dogs and chips won out, hands down.

“So, William. Did Mr. Chalmers keep his promise and let you call Hugh and Charlotte last night?”

The boy paused and nodded silently; his mouth still stuffed with food.

“Good.” Lydia smiled, sneaking a glance at her older brother. “I find that keeping promises is of the utmost importance.”

“Lydia!”

All eyes turned towards the elder Chalmers.

“Father!” she retorted. “It’s one of the first tenets you taught us all as children. To follow through with what you’ve promised, or to expect what has been promised to you. Do you have a problem with that now? Or doesn’t it apply to the lad, here?”

“Of course it does, my dear girl. I just find it inappropriate to start this sort of conversation during the meal. Tends to cause all kinds of indigestion and the boy….”

“The _boy_ isn’t stupid, Father. I believe he should know exactly how we feel about certain things. There’s no need to lie.”

William was used to being the focus of attention and continued to eat, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Nathaniel shoved a hot dog in his direction, silently urging him to keep his mouth occupied and let the adults argue amongst themselves.

“No worries, then,” Lydia smoothly continued. “William, when you’ve finished, why don’t you go to your room? I’ve left a present for you on your bed.”

The boy’s eyes brightened. He still wasn’t used to being treated pleasantly. Roger Wyndam-Pryce had left his legacy in his psyche.

“It’s an old favourite of mine, by C.S. Lewis… called: The Screwtape Letters.”

Nate fought the urge to complain about his sister’s choice of reading material. Fanciful tales of the Devil… more muck to muddle with the Council’s teachings. He never would have permitted the child access to this type of material, but there was no way he could rationalize taking away a gift from his sister. As it was, blackmailing her into accepting the child’s incarceration was difficult enough. Nate loved his sister, but he and the Council had a goal, and no one could be allowed to interfere with it. She did understand that if she meddled or pushed things too far, he would be left with no choice but to return William to the austere conditions at the Council, proper. To allow him the freedoms he now enjoyed, and her access to his routines… to see for herself that he was blossoming and happy… that was all she really wanted, and she was easily kept in line.

Lydia had so few things in her life that gave her pleasure anymore, Nate was loath to take this one away… but he would, for the sake of the project. If she caused trouble.

At least he had the pleasure of knowing the vampire wasn’t further contaminating the child’s innocent soul by his continued demonic presence. And if the fact that the boy now spoke with the youngest Chalmers, weekly, caused the demon to suffer? Nate could admit to being petty enough to enjoy it.

William trusted him now. To the child, Nate was saviour – the man who had rescued him from the hellish treatment of Roger Wyndam-Pryce. The bountiful provider of weekends of relative leisure and pleasure. This made it so much easier for him to ask William to go that one step further. To work harder. To believe in new and different concepts. And when the nightmares struck, he turned to Nate for comfort.

Amazingly, the fact that Nate Chalmers had been key in removing William from his home and parents had been forgotten. A few kind words – an occasional smile – children were so easily manipulated. They’d got to the boy none too soon. A few years later, and he’d have been much too strong-willed for the project to be effective.

“So, brother dear…” Lydia’s sarcastic tones cut through Nate’s meanderings. “Now that William is safely out of the way, perhaps we can talk freely? I’d like to know why you summoned me here this afternoon.”

Nate looked around. Sure enough, young William had finished his meal and scampered off to his room for the aforementioned gift. 

“Isn’t it possible that I just wanted to see my only sister?” he asked, amused at her annoyance.

Lydia nodded, then turned on him with her eyes blazing. “Oh yes, indeed. For that matter, I _could_ be the Duchess of York, but as it happens, I’m not.”

“Lydia…” Nate tried, but he could see she wasn’t willing to drop the matter. “Very well, then. I suppose we might as well get down to it. Have you any news on Mr. Giles’ condition?”

“I’ll answer your question if you’ll provide me with information. Where is Miss Rosenberg? Last I heard you’d sent her out to retrieve some artifact that would free Miss Summers from her marble imprisonment. The witch hasn’t been heard from in years.”

“Miss Rosenberg is ensconced in the Tieng reality. As you know, one week there is equivalent to a year in our time.”

Lydia was shocked. “You sent her to the Halls of Wisdom?”

“Yes. I gave her the portal coordinates. In fact, she was due back two months ago, our time. We received word that her return was unavoidably delayed.”

“You received word… from Miss Rosenberg, directly? Do you even know if she’s all right? Does she…” It took Lydia by surprise when the other shoe dropped. “Did you ever bother to tell Miss Rosenberg of the time differential between our two planes of existence? Does she have any idea how long she’s actually been gone?”

Nate scratched at his neck, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “It is possible that those exact words might have slipped my mind.” He could see her fists clench before she calmed herself down. The rage passed quickly, and would have been missed by anyone not well-versed in Lydia Chalmers’ body language.

“Bastard,” she muttered.

Calmly sipping the tea brought out by an unobtrusive servant, Nate tried to counter his sister’s anger. “I fail to see the harm, here. Wyndam-Pryce wanted her out of the way so she couldn’t interfere with the project. The information I gave Miss Rosenberg about the enormous mystical archives was true. It is possible she could find an artifact to free her friend. There is no place in the multi-verse where she stands more of a chance. And, she’s free to return at any time. We do not have her locked away in a prison cell somewhere, Lydia,” he insisted. “Not everything has a nefarious scheme behind it.”

“And if she decided to stay away for a year? Fifty two years, Nathaniel! Everyone she knew would have died by the time she returned.”

“If she finds nothing, nobody will have been hurt by her absence. If she finds what she was looking for, then Miss Summers will be saved and all will be worth the time lapse.”

Lydia smacked the table with her hand, her ire becoming more pronounced. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Nate hesitated, as if trying to wrestle the proper answer out of a tangle of vipers without getting bitten. “If she doesn’t return within the next few weeks, we’ll send someone in after her. Will that soothe your conscience?”

Her obvious indignance said it wasn’t enough. “She’s been gone for over four years, already! How dare you play God with that young woman’s life?”

This time it was Nate’s turn to beat on the table. “Do you know how many Watchers would beg for the opportunity Miss Rosenberg was given? To be that close to so much wisdom… so much knowledge?”

“And each and every one of them would have gladly _made the choice!_ Been given the proper information and time displacement schedule. Those very things you withheld from Miss Rosenberg before sending her off on a wild goose chase.”

“I gave the woman the information she needed to know.” Nate was adamant. “She was eager to go. Very enthusiastic.”

“We are just never going to agree, Nate. I find your ethics to be shaky, and you will never convince me that what you have done to either Miss Rosenberg or young William is moral or upstanding. Not in intent or actuality. And as for Mr. Giles…”

 _Finally!_ “What about him?”

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce came a few glasses of absinthe shy of committing murder.”

“Roger? How is he responsible?” Nate was truly curious. “I thought old Rupert had merely let himself go. Wasting away like a common drunkard and poor excuse for a Watcher.”

“He was mourning!” Lydia yelled, her face growing blotchy in her anger. “Miss Summers was as close to a daughter as he was likely to have. He’d watched her die before, and the last attempt to free her obviously broke the man further than anyone suspected. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce took advantage of a grieving man and put him over the edge with that blasted illegal potation.”

“Lydia,” Nate soothed. “I understand your attachment to the man, but even you would have to admit what a sad excuse of a Watcher he was. Unorthodox… refusing to follow the rules. It was only due to the skills of his Slayer that he’d risen to the position he holds now.”

“Don’t make me laugh, brother dear. You hold no respect for Miss Summers’ tenure as Slayer. You’ve agreed with your superior when he called her a vampire whore for aligning herself with two of history’s most infamous beasts, and then abandoning the Council.”

“That’s where you would be wrong, Lydia. I believe her lapses in judgment to be the fault of a weak Watcher. If Rupert had been doing his job properly, Miss Summers would never have been in the position to become sexually involved with demons.”

“And the world would have been destroyed many times over,” Lydia sneered in triumph. “I don’t understand your stance against Spike… why you are so determined to control William and bend him to your purposes. His demon chose to retrieve his human soul. He fought for and on humanity’s side, giving up his existence so that we might all survive. Where is the evil you rail about? What gives you the right to…”

“Quiet!”

Both Chalmers siblings turned towards their father.

“Do you realize how asinine this whole discussion is? Did I bring up my children to be petty and argumentative?”

Like recalcitrant children, they hung their heads in shame.

“You two are Watchers! We do not insult our own, Nathaniel. Rupert Giles might not have been the perfect Watcher, but he did his job like any true Watcher would have done. To be gleeful over his fall is distasteful in the extreme. And Lydia… while Nathaniel’s deception might not have been the best solution, do you have any doubt that Miss Rosenberg would have made any other choice had she known the entire situation?”

Nathaniel remembered his father’s own Slayer… Molly Black. She’d come from a working class background – father was a coalminer, mother a seamstress. She’d held the position for less than two years before being killed whilst on patrol.

He would never forget his father’s tears… or the year it took before he’d managed to pull himself together and return to the Council in a research capacity.

“I believe the question remains, Lydia. How is Mr. Giles doing?”

Properly chastened, Lydia replied: “He’s getting better. I’ve hired round-the-clock supervision for his detoxification, and a nutritionist to ensure his body gets what it needs to rebuild itself. Also, a psychiatrist is on call to help lift his depression.” She looked into her father’s eyes, deeply upset at relaying the man’s condition. “Last I saw him, Father, Mr. Giles was shaking. His hands… so unsteady. The poor man couldn’t even hold a pen to annotate his own diaries. It’s so hard to see such a strong man brought so low… and by a colleague.”

“Wyndam-Pryce was… troubled. It’s not easy being a Watcher. You know that, Lydia. It wears on you day by day. What you sacrifice… “

Nathaniel sighed. “In the end, his estrangement from his son didn’t matter – he lost him to that vampire’s cause. The Council is now his entire life. Is it any wonder that he would have done anything to protect what little was left to him?”

“What he did was wrong.”

“Yes, it was. But I can’t help pitying him for all he’s lost.”

Lydia stood up, turning away from her family. “I can’t pity him, Father. I won’t,” she said, and walked away.

Nate turned towards his father. “She’ll come around. You’ll see… in time.”

“I hope so, Nathaniel. This project… it’s important. It might well save the Council, itself.”

“I can handle it,” the younger man insisted. “I have William completely under my control.”

***

He stood off to the side, hiding behind a wall… out of sight of the arguing Chalmers clan. William was steaming mad. They were talking about his Grandpa. The one they’d said was too busy and uncaring to see him. It wasn’t true! He was sick. He was almost killed. How could they lie to him like that?

Will felt the cool tickle of a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t believe everything they tell you, William. Remember that.”

He needed to remember who his friends really were. One day, he’d escape and go home. He’d see his parents again, and his friends. Things would go back to normal… and he’d make them pay. All of them.

“Thanks, Wesley. It’s hard to remember, sometimes.”

Lydia appeared from around the wall, making her way back to the main house. She smiled, holding out her hand.

Will hesitated, even knowing she couldn’t see his ghostly friend, but a slight push from behind told him that she could be trusted to keep his eavesdropping a secret.

And he added one more true friend to his list.


	34. Girl Talk

Every Friday, like clockwork, Buffy found herself in Will’s room. Belly down on his bed, she amused herself and eased her broken heart by talking to his stuffed bear.

“If I could get my hands on Mr. Gordo, you wouldn’t have to be so lonely, Paddy,” Buffy sighed, gently pushing the toy from side to side. “I miss him, too.”

With a little bit of concentration, she managed to draw the beloved animal onto her lap. “Just until the hen party, now,” she warned. “Not like they’d even see me, but I don’t want Nina sitting _through_ me again. That was just _weird_.”

Sure enough, speak of the devils… the sound of feet marching up the stairs heralded the arrival of William’s female contingent. Buffy counted them off like contestants at a game show, or guests on Oprah: Meet Nina, wife of Angel and Will’s adopted mother. Charlotte, his former nanny. And last but not least, we have little Alonna, Gunn’s daughter and Will’s closest friend. 

They entered the room armed with feather dusters and fresh sheets for the bed.

Paddy gently tumbled from Buffy’s hands as she hovered a few feet over the bed.

“Mama would have been here, but CJ’s not feeling too good,” Alonna said as she ran her hand over each toy William had left out on the day he disappeared. She sat down, fiddling with loose puzzle pieces in the corner of his room. This was her ritual – a way of connecting with her missing friend.

“Maybe we should pack the puzzle away, dear,” Nina suggested, brushing her fingers gently against the girl’s cheek.

Alonna shook her head, vehemently. “No, Aunt Nina! You know how Will gets about his puzzles. He worked so hard on this one, and… and…” she stated at the half-completed scene and sighed. Only the Beast had been completed… Beauty was a jumble of empty spaces.

“And it was your present to him for his birthday. It’s okay, then… just dust it off and we’ll leave it right where it is.” Changing focus, Nina headed towards the bed Charlotte had already stripped.

Buffy noted a strained silence between the two women as they silently shook out the pillows and comforter and remade the bed with fresh linens.

“It was so good to hear from Will again last night,” Charlotte offered, a small smile gracing her face. “He seemed happier… um, less miserable than last time.”

A brief flash of anger flared across Nina’s face, but disappeared almost before it registered. Not soon enough, though. Charlotte caught the emotion and her smile faded.

“Nina, I’m sorry…” she began, reaching out to the hurting mother.

A deep breath brought the werewolf’s roiling emotions back under control. “Don’t,” Nina began, brushing the young woman’s hand and concerns away. “I know it’s not your fault – that you’re not keeping Will from us on purpose. It hurts, though, knowing your brother-in-law _is._ Nathaniel Chalmers is a twisted, sadistic, evil man, holding our son just out of reach with threats of bodily harm and taunting us with happy phone calls we only get second-hand. Angel is beside himself these days. He can’t even come into Will’s room anymore.”

She broke down then, crying uncontrollably. “What do they want from him, Charlotte? What are they doing to my beautiful boy?”

Charlotte gathered the sobbing woman into her arms, all hints of hostility gone for the moment. “We just have to hope for the best, then. Taking small comforts in knowing Will’s still with us and…”

Nina broke out of Charlotte’s embrace; despair written across her face. “I wonder if he thinks we’ve given up on him? If he hates us for not trying harder to rescue him? Oh God,” she gasped, fingers fluttering towards her mouth. “It's been so long... I can’t believe we know where they’re keeping him and not doing anything about bringing him back home.”

Alonna, who’d been silent during all of this, climbed onto Will’s bed, and leaned against her best friend’s mother, giving what comfort she could.

“Don’t you think Will’s daddy is doing the best he can to find a way around the Council’s edict?” Charlotte said, earnestly. “I know he and Hugh’ve been trawling the sewers and the demon bars for weeks, trying to find another way into the country.”

“And my Dad, too,” Alonna piped in. “He’s got stacks and stacks of papers all over his office. He says he’s looking for legal pessidents to get Will back.”

“Precedents, hon,” Charlotte nodded, taking the girl’s hand in her own. “Legal precedents. Maybe he can find a loophole in the Council’s paperwork.”

Nina sighed, drawing Alonna closer into her embrace, but looking at the woman she considered to be her second sister. “We’ve shown the Council’s letter to the cops, and they insist there’s nothing they can do. The paperwork from the Consulate seems to be airtight, and they say Will’s where he belongs. They attributed Mr. Wyndam-Pryce’s threats to those of an angry grandfather and said to let it drop if we don’t want to cause an international incident.”

“Hugh and I have spoken plenty of times about going against his brother and trying to bring Will home, ourselves,” Charlotte murmured. “In fact, Nathaniel’s encouraged our coming back to his home… but I’m sure it’s a trap. I don’t think they’d let us back out of the country if we went… and we don’t want to be responsible for Will getting hurt if we fail in his rescue. Besides,” she said, looking straight at Nina, “Hugh said this kind of stuff goes on all the time with the newest Slayers. Taken from their homes and placed in the Council’s hands, they don’t even know that their parents are still looking for them.”

“Then I suppose we really do have to be grateful that they’re letting Will call here at all,” Nina sighed. “And I am more than relieved to know he’s not being brutalized.”

“They’re bastards.”

“Alonna!”

“But they are!” the little girl insisted. “They suck.”

“You’re right, they do suck,” Charlotte agreed. “But let’s not use that kind of language or your folks won’t let you come over here anymore.”

“Where do you think I heard it from in the first place? My dad says that word… and more,” Alonna giggled. “Mom’s always threatening to wash out his mouth.”

“Guess you can take the man off the street…” Charlotte joined the girl in her giggles, breaking some of the tension in the room.

“All right, ladies, enough is enough.” Nina stood up and shooed everyone else from the bed. “Let’s finish up here and then get supper started. Bethany should be up soon, right?”

Charlotte smiled at the mention of her daughter. “We probably have another half-hour or so. I’m so glad she still takes afternoon naps.”

“Can I stay upstairs, Aunt Nina?”

Nina shook her head. “It’s probably not a good idea, Alonna. Why don’t you come and help us cook?”

“And we’ll need you to look after Bethany when she wakes up,” Charlotte added. “Besides, it’s too sad to stay in here all alone.”

Alonna nodded in agreement, then picked up a puzzle piece with part Beauty’s face and fitted it into one of the open spaces with a gentle pat. She followed the other women out of the room without looking back.

Buffy floated back down to Will’s bed as the door closed.

Nobody heard her quiet sniffles as she curled around Paddy.


	35. Shades

The muscles in Angel’s back jerked with each landed punch on the wildly-swinging heavy bag. He’d been at it for hours, methodically battering the canvas until his knuckles split and his blood splattered out to stain the equipment, his body, and the floor. He worked through the burning in his shoulders; each blow heavy enough to pull a grunt out of a chest strained beyond its normal limits. The expression on his still-human visage was just as terrifying as his true face ever was.

With every strike Angel pictured another bloodied Watcher down for the count. Another obstacle out of his way as he battled to rescue his son. He could see it all so clearly in his head… until he remembered the blood threat. Fucking cowards weren’t even willing to take him on one-on-one. No, they had to bar him from the country by the use of ancient magicks.

The hateful image of Roger Wyndam-Pryce caused Angel to haul back and let loose a vicious right hook carrying every bit of the anger/pain/fear that filled him… and it still wasn’t enough to ease the hurt. To fill the little-boy-shaped hole in his heart where William should be.

The punching bag lay in tatters on the floor; its sand puddled at his feet. _Perfect fucking metaphor,_ he thought.

Angel slumped to the floor, feeling nothing as his body made contact with the concrete. He was tired. It had been more than a month since he’d slept for more than two hours at a time, and even then, it was Nina who’d encouraged him to lie down. 

These days, he couldn’t even face his wife. All her sweet words and tender touches brought home the fact that he hadn’t been able to keep their son safe. He couldn’t even support her in her grief. Useless, that’s what he was.

The only solace he found these days was in patrolling. He’d become totally ruthless, forgoing weapons for the sheer pleasure to be found in tearing his opponents limb from limb.

_Now you’re getting’ it. Fists and fangs._

Angel startled. Where had that come from? Shaking it off, he returned to his ruminating. His new single-mindedness was causing demons to spread the word and it wasn’t unusual for demon bars to empty out in advance of his arrival.

It wasn’t like the last time he’d stopped giving a fuck… way back when Darla was screwing him both figuratively and literally. This time, Angel knew he was sinking into his demon’s more animalistic persona and relished it. Always felt a bit thick and broody with the soul tying him down. Maybe, if he focused hard enough, the damned thing would leave on its own and then he’d be able to get down to business. Make the deals he needed to. Kill those in the way of getting his own back.

_When was the last time you unleashed it? All out fight in a mob, back against the wall?_

“Damn it, Spike. Get the hell out of my head!”

He had to be hallucinating. Spike was gone... more than ten years gone. Bad enough he’d been seeing Buffy. Ever since that night in his bedroom when they’d come to terms with, well… everything, he’d seen her hanging around the Hyperion. Never for long, and they never spoke again… but he’d loved her. She’d once been his reason to pull himself together. Now… just another reminder of his failure to keep his loved ones safe.

What Angel needed was someone to talk to. Someone who could understand the schism in his mind and heart. Souled vampires, however, weren’t a dime a dozen. For the shortest time, there were two… but…

“You’re still a broody git, Angelus.”

 _Okay, that’s enough! Get a grip, man._ Angel turned in the direction of that oh-so-familiar voice and sure enough, slouched against the wall was Spike in all his black leather and bleached glory.

“You should know by now that you’ll never be free of me. We’re blood, mate. Family.”

“Get out of here, Spike. I know you’re not real. Again.”

“As real as you’ve made me.”

“I have nothing to do with your being here,” Angel spat. _Look at me, now. Talking to apparitions._ “Go back where you came from.”

“Can’t do that, you sad, sad excuse for a vampire. You wanted me here.”

“Since when did you ever do what I wanted?” Angel mumbled.

Hallucination Spike blithely ignored the gibe. “You know, talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity, and if you’re imaginin’ me, you must be totally out of your Neanderthal skull.”

“You know, you actually have a point there.”

For a moment Angel swore he could see a flicker of hurt pass across Spike’s face as his image changed. The punk façade seemed to fade into the pathetic young man who’d bumped into him on a dark, London street so many decades ago: dirty blond curls, wire-rimmed glasses and tear-filled blue eyes. The perfect victim. He blinked, and the blast from the past was gone.

Angel snorted. “Oh yeah, I’m totally sane here.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be like that…”

Whirling on his knees, he located Spike again… only this time, he was all done up in ripped denim and eyeliner. And a safety pin through his scarred eyebrow.

“But I thought…”

“No, you don’t think, Peaches. You’re down here smashin’ up the equipment and hidin’ out from the world.”

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” Angel whispered, his head dropping towards his chest in total defeat. “There doesn’t seem to be any way around the damned Council’s wall of magic. My son’s gone and it’s all my fault. All because of me.”

Angel felt an odd tingle on his shoulder and looked up… into the eyes of yet another Spike – this one looking as disheveled as he felt, himself. Torn black shirt and jeans, overgrown two-toned hair and a hint of madness in his blue eyes.

“Don’t know why you’re askin’ me what to do, Liam,” Spike sighed. “Can’t play your bloody mind games here,” he gestured between the two of them. “No more mind.”

Before Angel could say another word, Spike had vanished again. “Oh, god… don’t leave. Please Spike,” he whispered. “Come back.”

“Daddy.”

William at four years old: curly blond hair, bright smile… hands reaching out for a hug. Only to be replaced by Will as he’d last seen him: dark blond hair, jeans and t-shirt, backpack…

“Dad!” he called, arms reaching out. “Don’t let me go.”

 _flash – blind rage-filled eyes_

“Watch where you’re going!”

_flash – proud sparkling blue eyes_

“Way I see it, there’s another one getting all Chosen as we speak.”

_flash – angry blue eyes_

“Now, I know you haven’t been in the game for a while, mate, but we still do kill people. Sort of our raison d’etre, you know?”

_flash – quiet pain-filled eyes_

“Come to tap-dance on the patient, doc? I’d give you the fingers, but apparently I won’t have the motor skills till the drugs wear off.”

_flash – innocent little-boy eyes_

“I love you, Daddy.”

_flash – hopeful fledgling eyes_

“Do you even care about me, Angelus?”

_flash – love-struck blue eyes_

“I’ve lived for soddin’ ever, Buffy. I’ve done everything. Done things with you I can’t spell, but… I’ve never… been close… to anyone. Least of all, you. ‘Til last night.”

_flash – contrite blue eyes_

“Do you still love me, Dad?”

Over and over the images strobed before Angel until they were nothing but a blur. One final _flash_ and the shaking vampire sat alone in the basement, tears coursing down his cheeks.


	36. Deliver Me From Evil

Taking advantage of the mad vampiress’ absence, Dawn quickly skinned off her dirty clothing. Grateful for the running water, she filled up the commercial sink by stuffing her jeans in the drain. By using her t-shirt for a washcloth, she was able to hurry through what Joyce used to call a birdbath; just enough for the stinky parts to un-stinkify… somewhat. A little baby powder, a little deodorant, and she’d just have to settle for being fresh as an imprisoned daisy.

A little more powder sprinkled on her hairbrush took care of the greasy feel of her once shining locks. Why she stubbornly held onto the waist-length growth was beyond her understanding and Dawn swore that a salon was the first place she’d hit once she was free. Well, after a hot bath and a food-fest, anyway. 

With a moue of disgust, Dawn pulled on a ‘clean’ pair of panties, struggled into her lacy but oh-so-impractical bra and finished getting dressed in a pair of leggings and a lightweight sweater – the only items that had dried over the past two days.

Everything Dawn owned was stained with the dust that covered every inch of the abandoned warehouse where she’d been kept for the past few weeks. Her body foam ran out after the first few days. When she caught a glimpse of herself in a cracked mirror, she looked like one of those workhouse urchins from Oliver Twist.

Dawn stared at the unguarded door. It should be so simple. Get up, open the door, and leave. And yet any time she stood with the express purpose of escaping, her legs refused to hold her. Wobbly-kneed, she had no choice but to stay on the ground.

Her empty stomach gurgled, echoing in the empty building. Dawn couldn’t remember the last time Drusilla had fed her. She scrounged around, shaking empty cereal boxes and cellophane cookie wrappers scattered around the floor. No way was she going to throw them into the rusty dumpster. Not since… A deep shudder wracked her body and she rapidly turned her thoughts in another direction.

She looked ruefully at the take-out menus littering the floor. The one and only time Dawn had talked Drusilla into calling for take-out, Dawn got sweet and sour chicken, and Miss Fang got the delivery boy. She wouldn’t be responsible for any more deaths just to feed her own face.

Not like they could use her cell phone again. The first time the dulcet tones of _I’ll Be There For You_ rang out from the little phone, the vampiress had tossed it to the ground. It now lay in pieces; shattered under Drusilla’s high-buttoned demi-boot.

“The pixies shan’t speak with us,” she had cooed. “They only tell filthy lies.”

Dawn mourned the loss of her cell phone. All of her most important numbers were there. Buffy’s old cell number, Giles’ private line… Connor. What if that call had been from him? The last thing she’d done before being dragged out of _Links_ was hit the send key on that email. What would he think if she didn’t answer his calls? What if… 

“Gods, Buffy,” Dawn moaned into her hands. “I thought we were past this crap already. I’m twenty seven frikkin’ years old and I still need my sister to rescue me. I wish…”

The sound of the heavy metal door opening drew Dawn’s attention.

“Hello! Is anybody here?” 

A young man carrying several flat pizza boxes in his right hand walked into the warehouse. He paused just inside the door, trying to see clearly in the dim light.

“I – I’ve got a delivery for someone named Morning Light. Are you here?”

The door slammed shut behind him.

“Time for dinner, my pet,” Drusilla’s mad laughter trilled softly as she danced around the bewildered delivery man. “So nice of you to deliver a hot meal for two.”

“Run!” Dawn wanted to shout. “Get out. Save yourself.” Not a word passed her lips as tears fell silently down her cheeks.

“No problem.” The unsuspecting man placed the pizzas on a nearby desk. “That’ll be ten pounds, please.”

With a wicked grin, Drusilla trailed her fingers along his outstretched arm, cupping his chin and turning his face towards hers. “It’s not proper to talk about money, poppet. You look positively… delicious.”

The man seemed uncomfortable with her attentions, but tried to remain polite to his ‘customer’.

“I-I’m flattered, lady,” he hedged, attempting to move out of her grasp. “But I’m a married man. I’ve got little ones at home waitin’ for their dad.”

Her fingers tightened, droplets of blood decorating razor-sharp fingernails.

“Shh, now,” Drusilla crooned. “Look into my eyes. Be in me.”

And just like that, his struggles ceased, as had countless others before him.

Dawn’s stomach rolled. She watched as the vampiress sunk her fangs into the man’s neck, her eyes closed in bliss as she drained his lifeblood. The enticing smell of the almost forgotten pizzas filled the warehouse, and the young woman was torn between drooling and throwing up.

There was nothing she could do as Drusilla tossed the man’s corpse head-first into the dumpster, where he joined the dozen or so others that had gone before him. The impact of his body stirred the not-so-fresh aroma that had begun to taint the air.

Dawn shuddered.

When Drusilla shoved one of the pizza boxes under her nose, Dawn’s hunger won out over her remorse, and she greedily devoured slice after slice.

The vampiress nodded her approval.

“Be strong, my pretty green light. The time will soon be nigh to rescue the darkling knight. It won’t do to have the maiden swoon.”

“William?” Dawn whispered. It seemed like ages since she’d thought of the boy.

“Our little kitten has lost his mittens, and we shall help him find them.” With a toss of her brunette curls, Drusilla seemed to float towards the door and exited into the night.

Dawn feared that the next time the door opened it would be Will shoved inside as a snack for the lunatic. She’d let it be known that she had plans for the boy. Oh, God! What if she planned to turn him? A ten year old vampire?

She stared numbly at her greasy fingers, wondering how it was all going to end.


	37. Restless Echoes

**5 ¾ Months Post William’s Kidnapping**

William sat at his desk in the stifling tent, absently rubbing his neck where the rope irritated the delicate flesh.

_Human Vampire_

Being forced to wear the sign was humiliating and a constant reminder that he was a freak. Being subjected once more to the pointing fingers and hushed whispers took what little joy he’d found in his studies and turned it to ash. But Mr. Chalmers said it was part of his training, so he’d just have to deal with it.

Disheartened, the boy donned his glasses and stared at the stacks of books in front of him. English, French, Latin, Italian, Russian… How was he expected to get through all the assignments in one sitting?

“What’s a word means glowing?” he mumbled, reaching for an Italian text. “Scintillare.” Will shook his head in annoyance and pulled out a French book from the bottom of the pile. “Luire, maybe?” He threw the book down in frustration and watched as it flew off the desk from the force of his effort.

“Hey! Watch where you’re throwing your words around, kiddo.”

Will looked up into a pair of sparking green eyes.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked, not wanting to be disrespectful. After all, he’d probably come close to hurting the girl with his carelessness.

“Yup!” she chirped, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who cares what word you’re looking for? Come play with me?”

He shook his head, delving into Latin, next. “Effulgere… I can use that. See?”

“Who cares what the word is? Time to go play.”

“I can’t,” Will insisted. “Mr. Chalmers says I have to finish my homework before I have free time.”

“Are you at home?”

He could barely hear her over the din in the tent.

“C’mon, kid! The sun is out. Can’t you hear it calling? Kids play. That’s our job… our mission. That’s all that matters. Not those silly words.”

“They’re not silly,” Will defended, removing his glasses. “Mr. Chalmers said…”

“Mr. Chalmers can take a flying leap.”

The girl grabbed his hand, pulling Will off his seat.

“Have some fun. We can get cotton candy, and candied apples and ice cream… yum!”

Glancing down at his chest, Will pointed to the sign. “But I’m supposed to stay here. I have to know my place.”

The little girl hung her head, seemingly at a loss. “Oh! I know,” she said, trailing her fingers over the sign. “Will you still be a human vampire if you leave your desk?”

Will nodded, curious as to what she had in mind.

“And what if you go outside the tent? Even then?”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t need this silly thing anymore.” She giggled, yanking the sign over his head and tossing it onto the desk and grabbed his hand again. “C’mon. I don’t want to miss anything.”

The tent was bigger than he’d imagined and it stretched farther than his eyes could see in every direction. Weaving their way through the crowd, Will allowed himself to be strong-armed by the smiling girl. He happily accepted her gift – a giant yellow puff of cotton candy – pulling handfuls of the sweet confection from the stick and laughing as it dissolved on his tongue. She busied herself with a blue puff that was bigger than his.

“Let’s go see the _real_ freak show,” the girl said, once more tugging Will along. “They keep the scary ones behind bars.”

Her pull was unexpected and he stumbled, mashing his treat into hers.

“Eeew,” she cried, a moue of disgust on her face. “Look at the mess… oh, cool! See where they meet?” She pointed to where one wet cotton candy melted into the other. “Now we got green!”

Will just smiled, happy to be away from his desk. Happy to have company closer to his age. Entranced, he watched the girl’s blonde hair swing back and forth like one of the mares' tails at Mr. Chalmers’ stable.

They barreled through the milling crowd until they came to a row of barred cages. People were lined up three and four deep, but a little discreet elbowing procured a front row viewing space. 

“Look!” Will pointed to the hourglass at the corner of the cage. “It’s almost curtain time.”

His friend nodded. “Shhh,” she said, covering his sugary lips with her sticky fingers. “You’ll want to see this. _I’ve_ heard all about it.”

The audience hushed as music blasted from a pair of speakers and a red-skinned man began to tap-dance. His red suit flashed and turned blue.

“His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear a word he’s singing,” Will complained. “The music is loud, and everyone’s making too much noise.

“It’s okay. The words aren’t important,” the girl soothed, motioning to the action in front of them. “The dance is what matters.”

After a few minutes, the clickity-clack of the taps and the blaring music lost their novelty, and Will found himself yanked away and towards the next cage.

“I thought you said the dance was important?”

“It is,” she insisted. “And we’ll see it again.”

They walked right up to the exhibit; nobody looked anxious to get too close.

Will shuddered. “What a scary-looking guy. He looks like a puzzle.”

“Yeah. Put together with pieces from lots of different puzzles.”

The creature walked up to the bars of his cage and stared at Will, making him jump back in fear as the monster grabbed one of the bars.

“You. Boy. How do you work?”

In response, Will yelped. This time it was him dragging his friend away.

“What a scaredy-cat you are!” she laughed, bending over as she clutched her tummy. “You’re safe… Mr. Bits is behind the bars.”

He remained unconvinced. “What if he gets out? Or if we get in?”

“Shyeah… like that’s gonna happen.”

“But he’s a monster. Monsters can never be contained.” The boy closed his eyes before launching into the litany he’d been taught. “There is no such thing as a good monster. The _only_ good monster is a dead monster. Monsters are inferior. Monsters…”

“Will!”

He shook his head as if to clear it. 

“What?”

“Where did you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Will insisted. “We haven’t moved.”

“You were yelling something about monsters and you wouldn’t answer me.” She gently patted his shoulder. “We’re safe. The bars’ll hold. Pinky promise.”

Will tentatively entwined his little finger with hers, and met her worried eyes with his own.

“Maybe I should just go back… Mr. Chalmers will be looking for me soon.”

The little girl stamped her foot in disappointment. “But there’s so much more to see,” she whined, pointing to the next cage in the row. “That’s the boy who turns into a god. See?”

In-between the other fairgoers, Will caught glimpses of a young brown-haired boy sitting on the floor, playing with blocks. Just as he completed his tower, the boy screamed and turned into a little girl who kicked the structure down.

“And there’s a really old vampire that sits in a nest and broods,” she continued, blithely unaware of her friend’s continued distress. “His hair sticks up real funny, and I want to see it.”

“No.”

“Please,” she wheedled, her bottom lip quivering into a pout.

“Nonono! I don’t want to see any more,” Will whimpered, backing further away from the exhibits. “This isn’t fun, and I feel funny.”

“Are you sick?”

“Not sick… sorta tingly all over.”

She stood on tip-toes, and pressed her lips to his forehead, just like his mom used to do. “You don’t feel hot. Maybe you ate too much cotton candy?

Will tried to find the words… to explain the uneasiness he felt, as if he weren’t alone in his body… and failed. _Best just to go along with her and hope things turn out okay,_ he thought.

With one last pout, the girl held up her hands up in surrender. “Okay, then. What can we do that’s not scary? I know!” she said, her eyes gleaming with inspiration. “Nothing scary – just the funhouse mirrors. Sound good?”

He nodded, relieved to get away from the caged freaks.

Taking her hand, Will allowed himself to be led once more, weaving through the noisy crowd. By the time they got to the funhouse mirrors, they’d left most everybody behind. The ticket-taker wasn’t at his post, and once again, Will slowed his steps.

“Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t go in. It looks closed.”

He shut his eyes; the feeling that he wasn’t alone was back stronger than ever.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna get all weepy on me now.”

The little girl stood in front of the entrance, hands on her hips. For the first time, she seemed angry with him.

“I’m not crying,” Will mumbled, surreptitiously dashing the tears from his eyes as he shuffled his feet closer to the exhibit. “It feels wrong. Like I hear someone in my head warning me… just not with words.”

“They’re just mirrors, silly. No monsters… just us!”

They walked towards the first mirror hand in hand, Will trying hard to conceal his fears and still his trembling.

“See?” the girl laughed, pointing to the distorted image. “We look squashed! Let’s try the next one.”

“How can it be so different? We look ten feet tall in this one!”

She snickered as she pivoted around. “Yeah, and we look flat as paper dolls if we turn sideways.”

Her enthusiasm catching, Will seemed eager to try out another mirror. Unfortunately, his joy was short-lived as he stared into the shiny surface and saw…

_Nothing!_

“Okay, this isn’t funny. Where did I go?” he demanded, slapping at the empty surface.

“Stop it!” she hissed, pulling Will away. “Don’t you know it’s seven years of bad luck if you break a mirror?”

“I think it’s already broken. It doesn’t show me at all. Just…”

As he stared into the surface, a fuzzy image began to form.

“It’s _him!_ I know him!” he cried, pointing to the man in the mirror. Taller than he was, and thin, sporting the recognizable leather duster, bleached hair and cocky leer he’d been forced to study and associate with himself for months.

“You’re afraid of him?” the girl snorted, shoving Will out of the way. “Watch this.”

As he stared into the mirror, another image began to form. A woman this time; gentle curves, long blonde hair… flashing hazel eyes.

“What took you so long, Buffy? Why didn’t you come to see me before?”

“You’ve always seen me,” little Buffy said, removing a familiar pair of glasses from her pocket and placing them on her nose. “I just needed time to see you.”

The images of grown-up Buffy and Spike drifted towards each other before fading out completely, leaving Will and little Buffy in their wake.

“See, Will? No need to be afraid. Not slayer and vampire. Not champion and monster. Just us,” she said, pointing at their reflection. “A girl and a boy who look like they want to go outside and play.”

“Lies! Lies! All lies!” Agitated, Will grabbed the glasses from Buffy’s face and flung them to the ground, grinding the lenses to dust under his heel. “Mr. Chalmers said I can’t believe what I see. That I can’t trust anyone. Just him! He said…” 

Buffy grabbed him by the shoulders and he stilled.

_Oh no! Not the lip._

“Please, Buffy,” he begged. “I’ll go outside with you if you really want to. But wouldn’t you rather stay here? In the dark, with me?” We can even go see the freaks again, and I promise not to be afraid.”

He swallowed, hard, all the while feeling that uncomfortable stir in his belly that urged him away from the tent flap.

She shook her head slowly, lower lip still pouting. “Is that what you really want for me, Will? Shadows and darkness?”

“You should go by yourself, then,” he said, knowing he’d be heartbroken to be alone again. She’d shown him how to have fun…that he didn’t have to be stuck to a desk, Or kept behind bars like all the other monsters.

“I’m not gonna leave you behind,” she insisted, all the while edging them closer to the exit. “I don’t belong in the dark, and neither do you.”

The sunlight glinted off her hair, enticing him towards a place he knew he didn’t belong, but he knew he’d follow her anywhere. Grabbing for her hand, Will struggled to keep pace with her rapid steps. He took a deep breath and crossed the tent’s threshold.

It started as a tingle, a sense of warmth under his skin, spreading from his gut to his fingertips. As he looked into Buffy’s horrified face, the first flames ignited on his arms, rapidly spreading to encompass him fully, until all that was left were his screams as he turned…

 

… over in his bed, blinking owlishly at the flashing overhead light that signified it was time to wake up.

He patted down his body as if he were unsure what he would find. The flesh on his arms was unburnt – whole and unblemished.

“A dream,” he muttered. “Just a freakin’ dream.”

Will let his head drop back on his pillow. “Why does she keep haunting me?”

With a grunt, he rolled over and sat up at the edge of the bed. By the time he headed to the shower, he’d forgotten his dream, just like he did every morning.

Showered, dressed and breakfast out of the way, Will fastened the watch Mr. Chalmers had given him for his good behavior on his right wrist. 9:45 and he stood ready and waiting for the knock on his door.

Sure enough, right on the dot – he opened the door to EJ’s smiling presence – Miss Emma Jane Wheldon, if you please – his training buddy of the past few weeks.


	38. Sugar and Spike

Will shook off the last effects of his dream as he tugged down the hem of his sweatshirt before opening the door. The last thing he needed to start off his day was a crack about his appearance from EJ. She could be ruthless if the mood struck her.

She wasn’t exactly a demon. EJ was a slayer, like his Buffy, and just a little bit older than him. According to Mr. Chalmers, she was ‘called’ by the spell that activated all the slayers while she was still in her mother’s belly. EJ liked to tell the tale that she was so strong before she was born that she nearly killed her mother during her birth.

EJ’s mom had never married, and drugs and alcohol had been issues, too. EJ was rescued by the Council a few years ago and raised in a foster home. The Council could do no wrong in her eyes.

Leaning against the doorframe, EJ tapped her watch, a duplicate of his. “Come on, short-stuff – you know Mr. Chalmers hates it when we’re late.”

Will simply ignored her friendly taunt. He’d grown several inches since he’d been… away, and was nearly as tall as she was,

“Race you there?” he challenged, bending down to tighten his laces.

With a wicked grin, EJ took off, leaving Will in her wake.

As he closed the door, he gave thanks that Mr. Chalmers now trusted him enough to be where he was supposed to be at the proper time. With a grin of his own, Will began to run, catching sight of EJ’s feet as she rounded the first turn on the way to the door leading to the outside track.

Will checked his watch as they raced alongside each other.

“Getting’ slow in your old age, Eej,” he laughed as he grabbed a lock of her short brown hair, playfully. “Never used to be able to catch you with a head start.”

Emma Jane wrinkled her nose in disdain, tilting her chin up slightly as she looked at her companion. “And what makes you think I was running flat out, boy? I felt sorry for you, that’s all. Slowed down so you wouldn’t get lost all by yourself.”

A sharp _huff_ was Will’s only reply, as the two continued to hare down the corridors. They’d become a familiar sight in the past two weeks, and wandering Watchers made sure to stick close to the walls to give the children uninterrupted passage. And to keep from getting knocked down as they rushed by.

With a quick glance to his watch, Will yelled, “Think we’re gonna beat Mr. Chalmers to the field?”

“Turn left up ahead,” EJ yelled back. “I think it’s a shortcut .”

“Gotcha!” Will jumped over a briefcase dropped in the effort to get out of his way, his step never faltering as he followed after the young slayer.

They tore through a labyrinth of corridors in a seldom-used wing, coming to an abrupt halt in a dimly-lit hall lined with rows and rows of portraits. Both were panting mildly, having exerted themselves trying to outdo each other.

“Where are we?” Will asked as he hunched over, trying to oxygenate his system. “Who are all these girls?”

EJ stood frozen in front of the paintings. “I think… I think they’re slayers.”

Will ran his hand over the bottom row of portraits. Each one had a small brass plaque beneath it, most inscribed with only a name and a pair of dates.

“They’re all dead, aren’t they?” he whispered, a chill going through his body.

EJ didn’t reply, too busy looking at the portraits on the opposite wall.

He noticed the march of years as much from the style of clothing as the dates on the plaques, but didn’t recognize anyone until the final portrait… _hers_. Buffy Anne Summers. Born February 1981 – Died June 2004. There was also a list of her accomplishments: Killed The Master. Thwarted Ascension. Destroyed Glorificus. Closed Sunnydale Hellmouth.

“Buffy,” he murmured, his voice a pained whisper drawing EJ’s attention.

“What’s up, shrimp?”

“Why is she here, Eej? She’s not dead,” Will insisted. “Why does this say she is?”

“Are you sure? I don’t think the Council would get something like that wrong. Slayers are important and taken care of – like me.” She pushed at Will’s shoulder trying to lure his attention away from the portrait. “If she’s not dead, where is she?”

“She’s… stuck,” was the best he could come up with. “I’ve seen her all my life. She used to keep me company at night and tell me stories. Nobody else could see her… just me.”

EJ snorted. “You had an imaginary slayer friend? How sweet… not!”

Will pushed her back, annoyed at her attitude. “I didn’t make her up,” he insisted. “She’s as real as you and me, just not solid. She’s stuck, like I said. In a statue we had in the garden. My da… my family was trying to set her free.”

“You have a family? A dad?” An eyebrow arched as EJ shot him an incredulous look. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you home?”

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and Mr. Chalmers took me away from them,” Will choked out, staggered by a fierce wave of homesickness the likes of which he hadn’t felt in months. “They said… they said it was too dangerous for me to stay with my dad.”

He would _not_ cry in front of EJ. He _wouldn’t_. He was big (bigger) and bad (tough) and he didn’t cry like a baby.

“Mr. Chalmers said that my dad wanted to make me a monster. That he didn’t really care about me at all. I didn’t believe him, but if it’s not true, then why didn’t my dad answer any of the letters I’ve written? I’ve been here so long. He won’t talk to me, either. Him or Mom. I can talk to Uncle Hugh and Lotte… but _they_ never come to the phone.”

EJ looked perplexed. “Okay, I can understand how your folks could be ‘monsters’, like my mother with her habits. But how could he make you one? I mean, how would he do that, anyway?”

“He’s a… vampire,” Will whispered, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Your dad’s a freaking vampire?!” EJ stared at him, her mouth open in shock. “That’s…oh my god! That’s why you’re nearly as strong and fast as I am. So… you’re half vampire? Do you have fangs?”

Now it was William’s turn to stare.

“I – I’m adopted… and my real mom died when I was born.”

“Did your vampy dad kill her? And take you?”

“No!” Will cried out, harsh and swift. “He found me at a shelter, and took care of me. He married my Mom when I was two years old. He wouldn’t… couldn’t…”

“Pffft. You never know with one of those bloodsuckers, Will. Who knows what he did to you?” EJ shivered and rubbed her arms. “I thought I was the only one the Council saved, but I guess they saved you, too.”

He nodded, uncertainly. Too many people trying to get into his head.

EJ pushed onwards, oblivious to his distress. “I mean, if it wasn’t for Mr. Chalmers and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, my mom… she was into drugs an’ stuff. Used to bring all these different guys home, too. The last one, he liked little girls. I had to kick him to get away.”

“And your mom kicked the guy out?”

“You’re kidding, right? She got ticked off at _me!_ She said I ran her man off, and kicked me out.” 

“But you were only a little kid. How did…?”

“That’s when Mr. Chalmers found me.”

Her earnest expression brought a lump to Will’s throat.

“He brought me here. Put me with these foster-parents who are so different from the _bitch!_ ” she spat out with distaste. “They’re really cool – they made sure I was fed and clothed. I never had it so good.”

Will was so caught up in EJ’s little speech that the beeping watch alarm took them both by surprise.

“Oh crap, Eej! Mr. Chalmers is gonna kill us. We’re officially late.”

“Then let’s get a move on, kiddo. He can only kill us once!”

They flew through the corridors at breakneck speed, coming to a complete stop in front of Mr. Chalmers, who was standing in front of the track, looking at his own watch with disapproval etched on his face.


	39. Invitation to the Dance

Lydia shut the window and pulled the curtains closed in the small, non-descript hotel room they’d rented for anonymity’s sake. Giles walked stiffly to a small, round table, pulling out one chair for her and easing his aching frame onto the other.

He rummaged through the old carpet bag he’d carried in, removing pure white beeswax candles, dried sage bundles, matches, chalk, sacred sand, an ornate vial of holy water, and five unblemished multi-faceted prisms cut from white quartz.

Every second that passed felt momentous as she tried to temper the hope that _this_ time they’d succeed where they’d failed so many times before. Giles’ hands were steadier; a testament to his perseverance during physiotherapy. He’d come back such a long way from the day she’d found him slumped on the floor.

Lydia held her breath as he drew the outline of a pentagram, its five points extended to the very edge of the circumference of the table. There were only the slightest of tremors as he poured the sand, painstakingly tracing along the outline. The candles were placed just inside the outer points, and the crystals butted the inner joints of a smaller pentagram. Last and most important of all, the holy water was situated in the center of the design, on a square of fabric ripped from one of Will’s t-shirts. If the spell was completed properly, Will would be one step closer to going home.

There were two spells entwined, worked with one purpose – to protect the boy – especially if the rescue failed. Whilst Giles worked the main spell to drop the wards against Angel, it was her job to work the secondary spell to keep up the illusion that the wards were still in place. Stealth was the only way to guarantee the lad’s safety.

Picking up the first bundle of sage, Lydia set fire to the tips then blew them out. She walked slowly around the table, weaving the smoke in a pattern whilst murmuring the ancient Sumerian words she’d spent hours memorizing. Within moments, a light sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead and between her shoulder-blades. Magic did not come easily to her, and what she was being asked to perform was far from a beginner’s spell. She forced herself to remain steady and focused on her task.

Giles stood and spread both arms over the pentagram, eyes closed in concentration as he worked his own incantation. The very air seemed to thrum around him as the magicks took over and expanded to encompass Lydia, as well. She could feel it work its way into her consciousness; joining with her words to form an additional entity.

A sharp burst of energy from Giles’ fingers lit up the vial of holy water in the center of the pentagram, turning the liquid into a roiling swirl of brilliant blue.

Lydia nearly floundered in her incantation but held to her woven pattern of steps around the table. She fervently hoped they’d done it right this time. The activity within the vial was a new development – perhaps the indication they’d been waiting for.

And unlike what had happened on the countless times and variations they’d tried before, a wind whipped through the room, extinguishing the candles. A soft glow arose from the sand formation and expanded, filling the room with a golden shimmer. With a _*pop*_ the wind died down and Giles collapsed into his chair.

“Did it work, Rupert?” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the exhausted man.

“I do believe we have been successful,” he murmured, barely able to believe it, himself. “It’s never been done before – it must have been the corrected edition of your chant that did the trick. Congratulations, Miss Chalmers. You’ve become an adept sorceress at advanced charms and incantations.”

Lydia’s cheeks pinkened at his compliment. It wasn’t often she’d received praise for any of her accomplishments, much less something of such importance.

“So, what do we do now?”

Giles began to remove the evidence of the spell-casting. The sage, the candles… even the sand went back into the carpetbag to be properly disposed of.

“I wish I understood your brother’s reasoning.”

Lydia shook her head. “I’ve tried talking with him, and there’s just no give at all. Nathaniel is convinced of his methodology. Even fancies himself the lad’s savior. The only thing I can be glad for, Rupert, is that young Will is being treated far better under his care than under the auspices of Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”

“Roger always… well, he held little sympathy even for his own son, let alone for a child like William – whom he doesn’t even see as human. He was once a great Watcher, but this work… it does things to people. Makes them hard – makes them treat their own children as little adults in order to prepare them for a life of service to the Council.

He hesitated before continuing, obviously torn between being totally open and adhering to his own ingrained Watcher service.

“When Roger first proposed to the Board that we remove the boy from his parents, he was shot down. I can’t believe that he and Nathaniel managed to work their way by running roughshod over my directives and wishes. Will is just a little boy… a human child. I don’t see what gain is possible except to destroy the lives of everyone who loved him.”

In a show of support, Lydia gently gripped Giles’ shoulder. “There really was nothing you could do to prevent it… not being incapacitated as you were, no thanks to Mr. Wyndam-Pryce’s machinations and the depression. But…” she said, looking frankly into his wounded eyes, “You’ve come such a long way, Rupert. The doctors and therapists have managed to reverse most of the damage from the absinthe, and with physiotherapy, your weakness should soon be a thing of the past.”

“They took advantage of me, Lydia. It was disgraceful on my part to have let myself go so far without seeking treatment.”

Lydia made a brief call on her mobile phone and stood up, taking the carpetbag from Giles. “We can feel guilty and remorseful later, Rupert. I’ve put in a call for a car to take us back to the Council grounds. There is no more time to waste. William and Emma Jane should be at the exercise track by now, and it’s time to perform the last part of the spell.”

With one last check of the room, they headed out, closing the door behind them.

***

Giles was unable to take his eyes off the scene playing out before him. “Dear Lord,” he murmured softly, staring through the binoculars at the children performing their warm-up exercises at the side of the track. “Is that lanky child my William?”

When last he’d seen the lad, Will had been a curly-haired youngster who’d barely come up to his hip, dressed in brightly colored t-shirts and blue jeans. In his estimation, the boy on the field was probably shoulder-high, wore his hair slicked back and had lost almost all of his baby fat. A quick glimpse of Will’s face caught the emergence of Spike’s infamous cheekbones beginning to make themselves known.

“He’s such a good lad, Rupert.” With a wistful smile, Lydia patted his arm. “He’s doing so well these days. Nathaniel’s been really pleased with his physical progress in the past few months.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, Giles lowered the binoculars and turned to face his accomplice. “This is what his parents should be able to see, Lydia. We must act now. That boy needs to go home.”

Lydia fussed with the picnic basket containing the blood-laden food prepared especially for Will, and Emma Jane’s untouched repast.

“Do be careful not to rouse your brother’s suspicions. If we fail….”

“Thank goodness the Council is ruled by its timetables – he won’t expect me to have meddled with the children’s meal. I’ve been bringing it out for weeks now.”

Picking up on his train of thought, Lydia completed it for him: “If we fail, Nathaniel will see to it that I no longer have contact with William, and he’ll be kept under guard around the clock. I’ll be careful, Rupert. Young Will has become very dear to me in the short time I’ve been allowed to spend with him. You know I only have that boy’s best interests at heart.”

“If it means anything to you, I _am_ sorry to have to put you in a position of opposing your family.” Giles held the potion in his hand, seemingly unwilling to part with it. “You have a good heart, Lydia. I can’t begin to thank you for all you’ve done for me, as well.”

She blushed hotly at his words, his fingers gently brushing against her cheek. Lately she’d taken to wearing her hair loosely about her shoulders, and was that a hint of jasmine in the air? _Why, Ms. Chalmers… you sly minx!_

“You will be careful?” he repeated, shaking himself from his reverie and handing her the vial, holding onto her hand slightly longer than necessary to make the transfer. The words were more of a plea than an order, and Lydia nodded, adding the liquid to Will’s premixed sports bottle.

Giles watched as she made her way towards the building. They’d agreed it was best if Lydia made her appearance from the usual doors.

He raised the binoculars once again as Nathaniel stood to relieve his sister of her burden. Chalmers loved his younger sister… still trusted her. Giles hoped that this would be his downfall.

As expected, Emma Jane and Will soon left the track and sat down at the table, across from the Chalmers. A film of sweat formed on the man’s lip as he watched Will reach for his drink. 

A small frisson of fear wriggled its way through Giles’ belly when Will put the bottle down after his first sip. _Did he taste something off? Would he let the cat out?_ Giles sighed in relief as the lad picked up the bottle and emptied it without stopping.

Giles lifted his head in silent prayer that for once, things had gone according to plan. He pushed the pre-programmed number on his mobile phone, needing to get the remainder of the players into place.

“Angel, it’s Giles.”

He winced as he held the phone away from his ear. It took ten minutes for the irate vampire to calm down enough to leave an opening for Giles to speak.

“Don’t be a berk. I had nothing to do with kidnapping William, as you should know by now. Would you please shut your trap so I can formally re-invite you into the country and to the Council, itself? Detailed instructions will be hand delivered shortly.” Without another word, he broke the connection and looked around, making sure he hadn’t been overheard.

He stood stiffly, watching his boy just a little while longer, before making his way back to the private car waiting to take him back home.

They couldn’t afford detection now… not when they were so close.


	40. In Loco Parentis

Nathaniel Chalmers stopped abruptly just as they entered the building, bringing the children up short. 

“Perhaps we need to reconsider the outing this weekend,” he said, pulling out a small Filofax from his pocket and rapidly thumbing through its pages. “I’d almost forgotten we have your Latin exam coming up in less than a week’s time. Your time would be better spent studying.”

“Pactum factum, Sir ( _a done deal_ ).” Will dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand, eliciting an eye-roll from EJ.

“So you’ve studied then, William? Should I test you and your companion now, instead?”

EJ shook her head and pushed Will out of the way. “Nullo modo ( _No way_ ),” she insisted, ignoring the glare from her friend at his rough treatment. “Labre lege ( _Read my lips_ ). You promised us this weekend, Sir. You said: ‘the relaxation would be good for our stress management, good for our morale, good for our ability to absorb and synthesize what we had learnt’.”

Will quietly snickered at EJ’s nerve. If he’d spoken that way to Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, the man would have locked him away in the demon pit, for sure.

The man looked stumped. “Nescio quid dicas ( _I have no idea what you’re talking about_ ),” he teased. Using Latin idioms had become almost second nature as their studies progressed.

“Id quot circumiret, circumveniat ( _What goes around, comes around_ ),” Will chimed in with his own two cents worth. “If you make us take that test now, and we fail, you’ll also miss out on that barbeque you promised us. And the concert. So, who would you really be punishing?”

Mr. Chalmers smiled, and ruffled Will’s hair, destroying the hold the gel had on his curls. He really wanted a haircut. With his hair long and loose, he looked like a girl.

“I do believe that you two would be the ultimate losers should you fail.” Chalmers tilted his head, absently tapping at his chin. “I had several hours riding practice set aside each day. And time with the crossbow. The qualifying round for that marksmanship tournament is coming up rather quickly.”

***

Even as his wife silently packed his bag, Angel could tell a fight was coming by the set of her shoulders… and the way she threw his clothing down. He tried to fend it off by speaking first.

“I know you want to be there for the boy, Nina, but I need for you… and Hugh… to stay here. As Buffy once told me – to be a second front. If something happens to me, I need to know that Will’s got loved ones on the outside still trying to get him home.”

Angel looked over the contents of the envelope he’d received from Giles: two first class airline tickets, a scrap of black material from a… t-shirt? and a map denoting a private lot where he would be met.

His demon was unsettled, whispering of traps and betrayals. Reminding him that the man had once set up his grandchilde for murder in much the same way. However, when he’d mentioned his uncertainty to the others, Charlotte rolled her eyes, Nina said he was just being paranoid, and Hugh wisely kept his opinion to himself.

An unseen smack to the side of his head made him stumble.

“Hey!” An odd look crossed his face. “Buffy? Is that you?”

“Angel, are you all right? Perhaps we should get Charles to go instead if the stress is…”

 _Damn, he must’ve said that out loud._ So far he’d managed to keep all references to Buffy sightings to himself, since nobody else could see or hear her.

He stopped her from completing that line of thought with a kiss. “I’m fine, Nina,” he murmured against her lips. “And we’re taking apart enough families, don’t you think? Gunn and Anne have three children who need them. I won’t take on the responsibility for possibly destroying one more home than I have to.”

“Then be careful.” Nina returned her husband’s kisses gently, and then wrapped her arms around his waist. “Just bring our boy home safe and sound.”

Tilting her chin upwards, Angel gazed into his wife’s tear-filled eyes and knew he would dust trying. _As if he needed any added impetus!_

“We’ll bring him home, Nina,” he murmured. “I swear it. And everyone else, as well”

The tingle he felt on his shoulder that denoted Buffy’s presence reassured him that he was doing the right thing

They walked past the Chalmers’ bedroom suite just as Charlotte kissed her husband and hugged her daughter to her chest.

“You be a good girl for Daddy and Auntie Nina now, Bethy-roo,” she said with a final hug before she handed her over to Hugh. “Mommy’s going to help bring Will back. We’ll be back as soon as we can. I promise.”

“Bye, Mama.”

Charlotte hurried down the stairs without a look backwards, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “C’mon, Angel,” she shouted over her shoulder. “We still have to pick up Connor on the way to the airport. And he has to pick up his ticket. We can’t afford to be late.”

“Has he heard anything more from Dawn?”

Hugh shook his head. “Unfortunately, no… just the one email, and then nothing – he’s rather frantic on her behalf, as well as Will’s.”

“Damn it.”

Angel’s fists clenched. He should have pulled Dawn back years ago. He never should have lied to her in the first place. Yet another way he’d let Buffy down.

He stumbled slightly on the way to the door, but he didn’t bother mentioning that he’d been kicked in the shin – they thought he was crazed enough already without him proving their suspicions.

 _We’ll find her, too, Buffy_ , he thought, wondering if he was really insane, talking to someone currently residing as a statue in one of the empty rooms upstairs.

***

Walking towards Mr. Chalmers’ office, they noticed their instructor hadn’t followed. He stood back a-ways, brow furrowed, talking into his mobile. Retracing their steps, Will caught snatches of the discussion: “…complaint… bodies… warehouse… doll’s tea party,” only to have Mr. Chalmers hold up his hand to keep them at a distance.

Both Will and EJ fell silent, not wanting to interrupt what looked like a very intense phone call. Will could tell that the person on the other end of the call was agitated… though he couldn’t actually make out the exact words.

He knew his hearing was sharper than most folks. Part of his demon, he guessed, and supposed he should be grateful that it wasn’t any better.

Holding down the mute button, Nathaniel Chalmers beckoned to his charges. “Will, Emma Jane… I must take the rest of this call. Why don’t you go wait for me in my office – perhaps start your Latin prose? I’ll be right along.”

With a slight shove to his shoulder, EJ challenged: “Last one there’s a rotten egg,” and she took off quickly, Will only a moment behind her. She kept the lead, but Will caught up, fast. In a sprint, EJ had the advantage, but in an all out race, Will was more than likely to keep up with her as not.

***

Charlotte closed her eyes, trying to block out two of the most morose-looking men she’d ever seen. Here they were – on a rescue mission – and it felt like a funeral. One thing for sure… nobody would ever take Angel or Connor for anything other than father and son.

She relaxed further into her seat shutting out images as well as sounds and focused inwards. She’d taken up meditation as a way to handle the daily stress of an exuberant daughter, occasional forays into the law, both demon and human, and the hell that came from watching her family ache for their missing child.

William was just as much hers and Hugh’s as the Dowells. Charlotte conjured up the image of his sweet baby face; laughing blue eyes, cupid’s bow mouth and the softest golden-brown curls framing his head. In her head he aged, quickly, as if she were watching a flicker-book. Will changed from chubby cheeked baby, to inquisitive toddler. From a first-time schoolboy to the way she last remembered him – a loving, energetic fifth-grader with a good word for everyone he met.

Whose absence ripped the heart out of his two-hundred-and-sixty-year-old vampire father, his werewolf mother, his older brother and all of his aunts, uncles and cousins.

Charlotte came to with a start. The last image in her head had morphed into a refugee from an Oliver Twist novel. She couldn’t allow herself to go there. Will would be fine. He had to be.

_Positive thoughts equal positive action_

She turned to find Angel staring at her.

“What?”

“You’re breathing heavily and your heart is racing. What’s wrong?” Angel’s deep brown eyes were full of concern.

“I’m okay, Angel. It’s just… it was a bad dream, that’s all. I’m worried about Will, of course.” Charlotte toyed nervously with her hair as she ducked his gaze. “What if… if he’s changed? If he doesn’t want to leave with us?”

Angel looked at her as if she were a madwoman.

“He’s my boy,” he hissed, as if that explained it all. “How could he not want to come home?”

“Not that it would be Will’s fault,” Charlotte backpedaled somewhat, not wanting to cause an incident mid-flight. “But you have to remember he’s been gone for a long time. We have no idea what line of bull they’ve been feeding him, or what he’s come to believe. You have heard about Stockholm Syndrome, right?”

“Yeah, but…” The vampire was at a loss for words. The thought that his son could be turned against him was too horrifying to consider.

“Will’s still a child, and they adapt easily to new situations. In order to survive he’d have no choice but to start listening to his captors. From his phone calls…”

At that, Angel kicked at the empty seat in front of him, loosening it from its moorings.

“Sorry, leg cramp,” he said by way of explanation to the flight attendant rushing towards them. “An old football injury – makes the leg act up without warning.”

An arched eyebrow and a barely-disguised look of disdain were proof that the man had not been impressed. However, he walked back to the front of the cabin after trying to snap the seat back into place and failing, willing to let the matter drop. At least for now..

“You okay, Dad?” Connor settled back into the seat behind his father, having been awakened by his fit of temper. “No more plans for re-arranging the seating?”

“He just got angry at something I’m trying to prepare him for,” Charlotte interjected. “I know he doesn’t want to believe that Will may be afflicted with Stockholm Syndrome. I think we’re gonna have to be very careful as to how we approach him, no matter how badly we want to scoop him up and hug him to pieces.”

“Don’t know why you’d give it a second thought, Charlotte,” Connor smirked, the irony of the moment sharp and painful. “I mean, who would believe a son could be kidnapped and forced to turn against his father? Sounds unbelievable to me.”

The rest of the trip was made in silence; anxiety and personal hells keeping interaction to a minimum as the plane began its final descent.

***

EJ reached Chalmers’ office first, though Will wasn’t far behind and, despite the twinkle in her eyes, decided to exercise a little decorum and not kick the door down. She might have been the ‘teacher’s pet’ but that hadn’t stopped Mr. Chalmers from ordering her to add another fifty laps of the track after her usual workout the last time the door went flying.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, EJ seemed to vanish.

Not sure how to interpret what his eyes told him, Will barreled on into the office, intent on challenging her to a rematch. He was unprepared for the sight of his friend struggling in the arms of a huge security guard, and was caught out when his arms were pinned behind him by a second guard. He struggled in vain as he tried to free himself from the guard’s painful grip.

The boy watched, trembling with fear, and wide-eyed as EJ managed to flip her attacker over her shoulder, bringing the man crashing to the floor.

“William, Emma Jane… what’s wrong?” Mr. Chalmers’ voice rang out from the hallway, the noise probably catching his attention and his hurried footsteps announced his arrival.

“Ah, Nathaniel,” came the familiar voice from Will’s night terrors as the desk chair swiveled around to reveal its occupant. “How nice of you to join my little party.”


	41. Murder and Mayhem

_Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!_

Will’s breath hitched in his chest as Roger Wyndam-Pryce – Thing One – came into view, looking for all the world like a hairy Dr. Evil. All that was missing was Mr. Bigglesworth and the cheesy music from that old movie.

Time seemed to slow as Mr. Chalmers entered the room. EJ was once again overpowered and the creepy guard slapped a nylon strip around her wrists, making sure she couldn’t flip him again. Will could feel his wrist bones grating as his own guard tightened his hold.

“Slowly, now,” Thing One said, aiming a gun in Will’s direction, “and lock the door behind you, or the boy dies immediately.”

Following directions, Nathaniel locked the door and stared down his erstwhile mentor.

“Let go of me, arse-face.” EJ stomped viciously on her guard’s foot, but her soft-soled trainers deadened the impact and she was unable to wriggle out of his clutches. “Mr. Chalmers?”

He ignored the girl’s soft plea. “What _is_ going on here, Roger? Why are you man-handling my charges?”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about, Nathaniel. I’m returning logic and balance to the program you’ve managed to cock up so completely.” He snorted his derision, steadying the gun and re-training it on William’s chest. “It’s imperative we repair the mistake I made in allowing you to treat that little monster as if he were human.”

“Letting me?” Nathaniel spluttered. “You were removed from the project by the Council Board, Roger, or don’t you remember?”

Thing One fumed, striking the desk with his fists in anger. “Because of you. Because you were too weak to see this little monster for what he truly is. He’s fooled you. Pulled the wool over your eyes.”

It’d been a long time since Will had been subjected to language and hatred that intense. His hands balled into fists and he strained against the man holding him, wanting desperately to beat the stuffing out of that hurtful, old man.

“Come now, Roger. Surely you’ve noted by now that he’s nothing more than a lad with a dormant demon. It’s lent him strength and speed – though not up to par with a young Slayer. With discipline and training, we’ve managed to keep it under control, and his progress is excellent. William is thriving as his workouts with Emma Jane show…”

“Shoot her,” Wyndam-Pryce ordered one of his cronies. A single, muffled gunshot sounded and EJ wordlessly crumpled to the floor, a red bloodstain blossoming around the hole directly above her heart.

William screamed as Mr. Chalmers knelt down next to her. “Why?” he cried, unable to believe the events of the past few moments. “EJ’s not a monster. She’s a Slayer – a good guy. Why would you…”

“She _was_ a Slayer,” Thing One spat. “One that you contaminated by your very presence. She should have taken you out the moment you met instead of playing pat-a-cake with you. Her blood is on your hands.”

Never lowering his gun, Wyndam-Pryce looked down at the spreading puddle of blood underneath Emma Jane, and spoke to his ex-colleague: “You were paving the way for another Buffy Summers,” he sneered. “A vampire layer in the making. Never again, Chalmers. Once more our Slayers will be dutiful tools, not disobedient and willful little girls.”

Will couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. The hatred in Thing One’s voice was tangible.

“I didn’t do anything to EJ,” he sobbed, sagging in his captor’s arms. “She’s my friend.”

Mr. Chalmers cradled the girl in his arms – it was obviously too late to do anything for her – helpless as she bled out her young life in his lap without a word.

“Just a child,” he murmured.

“She was a weapon… a weapon you corrupted irreparably by involving it with that demon-spawn. Death was a mercy for her. Worthless trash that couldn’t tell the difference between a demon and a human,” Thing One barked.

The nausea overwhelmed him. Will felt lightheaded, broken. EJ had been his friend, and now she was dead… because of him. Because he was a monster. She had died for no other reason but knowing him.

Gently settling Emma Jane’s body on the ground, Nathaniel Chalmers closed her un-seeing eyes and stood, pulling his own gun from its holster under his jacket. Before he could steady his aim, his foot slipped in the viscous red fluid and he went down, hard, jarring the gun from his hand.

The sight of the gun near his feet pushed Will into action. If they were gonna call him a monster, maybe it was about time he acted like one. With no thought to his own safety, Will let out a primal scream, kicking back at the large man holding him – targeting his balls. Sure enough, the big lug went down, releasing Will with a yelp of agony.

Will looked into his eyes for a moment before grabbing the gun at his feet. Hot anger, full of disgust… and something else. Something… inhuman in their stillness. Will tore himself away from the man’s gaze and aimed his weapon at Thing One.

His hands were shaking and he knew he’d probably hurt himself before hitting his target but he no longer cared.

“You call me a demon, and… and maybe I am, S-sir,” he stammered, heart pounding away in his chest as his arms shook wildly. “But I never hurt anyone on purpose… before.”

Nothing about his situation made sense. Not EJ’s death, or Mr. Chalmers not coming to his rescue… or the total lack of fear in Thing One’s attitude. Will raised the gun higher, trying to focus through the cross-hairs to give him the most painful and deadly results.

“Don’t do it, lad,” Chalmers called from the floor. He seemed to be holding onto his ankle, unable to rise. “Fight your instincts. We’ll get through this, together.”

“So what’s stopping you, demon?” Wyndam-Pryce sneered, raising his arms in a mockery of a crucifixion. “Surely you have the balls to fire that weapon? Unless it’s too much for an ignorant beast like you. Go ahead and fire if you dare.”

Will knew he’d have just one shot. He could feel the guard creeping up behind him. His finger pulled back on the trigger a bit… then a little more, until…

“Need a little more incentive?” Thing One raised his gun and fired twice, destroying the top of Nathaniel Chalmers skull, spraying bone fragments, brain matter and fluids everywhere, including over and across William, himself. 

The older Watcher appeared in front of him suddenly, yanking the gun from his nerveless fingers and slapping him hard across the face.

“I was never in danger from a little pipsqueak like you.” Thing One dismissed the possibility with a wave of his hand. “Any human worth his salt would have fired that gun and at least tried to save himself.”

Will desperately wanted to say it wasn’t true… that he’d wanted to pull the trigger and blow the creep’s brains out just like he’d done to Mr. Chalmers, but he couldn’t speak… he couldn’t cry. Nothing more than a whimper passed through his lips.

The guard took advantage of his frozen state, securing his hands behind his back like they’d done to EJ… with a piece of nylon. In that very moment, Thing One grabbed at him and Will went wild. He snarled, wildly kicking out at the elder Watcher, and snapping his jaws each time the man’s hands came anywhere near his head. However, restrained as he was by the guard, it wasn’t long before his hair was grabbed and his neck exposed. He felt the sting of a hypodermic needle, the burn as something was shot into his system, and then he went numb.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed the blessing of unconsciousness. As the drug coursed through his system, his limbs grew impossibly heavy and he was unable to move. His breathing was labored and blinking nearly an impossibility. His hearing was unimpaired as was his ability to feel, which he found out when his captor dropped him painfully to the ground.

“Time to get moving, gentlemen,” Thing One ordered. “The bodies will be found eventually, but walking out of here clean and calm will gain us time. I’m not sure how long the beast will remain under the influence of the tetrodotoxin, however, and I would prefer it be alive when we arrive at our destination.”

Will watched as clean clothes were removed from a large duffel bag on the floor, and he listened to the running water in Mr. Chalmers’ bath room. The sound of the hamper top thumping down meant… oh God! Bloody clothing on top of EJ’s favorite unicorn shirt. Was it only yesterday that she’d spilled her juice on it and had to change?

“Don’t forget the rubber sheeting, Forbes. We don’t want to take a chance on anything leaking through the bag.”

“No worries, Sir,” the lackey replied, rolling masking tape around the boy’s ankles, then folded his knees backwards, taping them in place.

Thing One’s vindictive eyes were the last thing Will saw as the man leaned over him and sneered: “No more molly-coddling, William. It’s about time we found out what you’re truly made of.”

He stood and motioned to his accomplice. “Let’s get finished here. The longer we stay, the more we’re pressing our luck.”

Will felt himself wrapped up in a sheet of something stretchy and was unceremoniously dumped into the now empty duffel bag. Inside, his guts churned as the zipper was closed; he was petrified at being alone and in the dark.

***

Outside the office door, Roger Wyndam-Pryce fastidiously wiped his fingers with a handkerchief. Just the memory of touching that foul demon-child made his skin crawl. Thank goodness for doctors and assistants.

He made sure to put the ‘Do Not Disturb During Lessons’ placard in the holder. That should give them at least two hours of lead time before anyone found something amiss.

Turning to his guards, Wyndam-Pryce clapped them on their shoulders.

“Good work, Mr. Forbes. Mr. Harris. Please load the demon into the trunk, and we’ll be on our way.”


	42. Secret Garden

Willow sat at the edge of the blue flannel blanket, enjoying the feel of the cool grass between her toes. She was reminded of her childhood. She’d only been five years old when the Rosenbergs moved to Sunnydale. Even then, Sheila and Ira’s only daughter had been deemed too far above the rowdy, mindless play of other children. No public pre-school for her, no sirree bub! The summer before kindergarten would begin was spent in solitude in the backyard, on a blanket much the same as the one she sat on now. Blue skies, warm, soft breezes, organic peanut butter and fresh strawberry preserves spread on multi-grain bread for lunch…simply idyllic until she’d caught sight of a little brown-haired boy, staring at her noon-time feast with longing through a gap in the fence. It wasn’t long before she was sharing her sandwiches with Xander almost every afternoon.

With a smile, she tore off a corner of her sandwich and placed it gently into the mouth of her current companion, shivering with delight as the young woman’s lips and agile tongue made quick work of ridding her fingers of the sticky spread. Thoughts about Xander promptly vanished from her conscious mind.

“Mmmm... definitely one of your kind’s better inventions. Pee-a-nut butter,” Thespia purred, licking her lips as she leant forward, brushing Willow’s in a gentle kiss. She then pulled back, reclaiming her spot on the blanket; turning her face to the warmth of the sunshine.

“Yup! Peanutty goodness,” Willow nodded happily in her agreement. “What’s not to love about the little goobers?”

Willow smiled, entranced, as the Rubensesque brunette drew a handful of peanuts from the air with the slightest flourish of her fingers. In the month or so that she’d been in the archive, watching Thespia conjure anything and everything without the slightest effort filled her with a wonder she’d not felt since floating her first pencil a whole lifetime ago.

“I can’t even begin to understand how you do that, Thia,” Willow sighed, shelling a peanut and popping it into her mouth. “I can’t get a feel for the magicks in this place. I know that everything’s all connecty. At home I drew my power from the earth, herself. Here…” Holding both hands over the lush grass, Willow barely managed to raise a small handful of raggedy-looking daisies. “…it’s like I’m all fumble-fingers. I just don’t get it.”

With another wave of her fingers, Thespia swept the yellow and white flowers into the air, weaving them into a circlet of perfectly petaled blooms that settled itself gently on Willow’s head.

“Magicks are nothing I have ever thought about, my witchlet. It is all that I am, all that I have ever been and will continue to be.”

“All in one beautiful package, too.” Willow reached out to push a handful of dark brown curls from Thespia’s shoulder. “And much prettier without getting peanut butter in your hair.”

Thespia’s eyes twinkled as her hair twisted itself into a loose chignon, leaving nothing but a few wispy tendrils curling about her ears, and then Willow’s own long red tresses plaited themselves into a French braid.

“You know,” she began, toying gently with the remaining daisies at her feet. “With all the power you have at your fingertips, I don’t understand why you can’t conjure up the thingy I was sent here for. I mean, it’s not like it hasn’t been a little slice of heaven lazing around with you, but my best girlfriend is still all statuefied, and my favorite guy’s still big with the broken heart issues… how can I be so happy when… I mean, I don’t have the right… oh, pooh! It’s just all mixed up.”

“Time will take care of it all, my sweet.” Thespia grasped Willow’s hand, gently caressing her fingers. “That is the way things happen here. What you need shows up when you need it most. When it is time, the object of your desire will appear at hand. It has been said that sometimes the library has lessons of its own to teach. If you are without patience, it will make you wait that much longer. It is wise in its own way.”

Willow couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the lack of a more positive answer. “Can’t this place make more with the cooperation and less with the lesson teaching?” she whined, feeling much like a child being denied a treat before dinner. “I mean yes, I’m all for the patience having, but the heebie-jeebies crawlin’ up and down my spine are telling me that time is running short.”

“You are so adorable when you are impatient.” Thespia stroked a spare bloom against her cheek. “It is something I hope you will get used to, sweet girl. Perhaps you will give some thought to staying here with me for a while?”

“I do want to stay.” Willow dropped her eyes, unable to take the longing in the brunette’s gaze. “In fact, once I get the scroll back to my friends, I can put my other priorities on hold for a bit and return. I’ve been gone so long already. I mean, a month! They must be worried to pieces about me by now.”

A brief glimmer passed across Thespia’s countenance as she whispered: “It feels like a day, at most.”

Willow knelt up, leaning across the blanket and kissed her companion with all the feeling she’d come to develop in the past weeks.

“Mmmm, so sweet. Like a fine wine,” she murmured.

“Is this what love is?”

“Haven’t you been in love before?”

Thespia shook her head. “I have read volumes on the subject, but…”

“Oh, Thia!” Willow moved their picnic’s detritus aside and sat down next to the bewildered young woman. “None of the words on paper can truly capture what love feels like. My fingers against your cheek, however,” she said, matching actions to words, “And the feel of one heartbeat against the other…”

The gentle hug quickly turned into a much more intimate embrace as lips met and tongues sought each other out.

“Is _this_ love?” Thespia gasped in-between kisses. “I feel such a pounding, as if my heart would break my chest.”

“I… I think it’s a whole lotta like with a heaping side of potential.” Willow closed her eyes to breathe in the clean aroma of the meadowgrass, along with the hint of lilacs that always announced Thespia’s presence. “There are so many different kinds of love.”

“How does one find out if it is the _right_ kind of love?” Thespia whispered. “And are they all as wonderful as this?”

Willow set to with lips, fingers and heartfelt murmurs of sweet nothings to show her girl exactly how many different types of love there were.

***

When they came to some time later, the young women dressed quickly, and Thespia reopened the gateway, leading them back to the library proper.

The brunette stopped short, seeming to be lost in thought. She slowly raised her right hand, producing a small scroll out of thin air. After a quick glance, she handed the parchment over to Willow, gently brushing the Wicca’s fingertips with her own.

Uneasily, Willow unrolled the first few inches, intimidated by the delicate feel of the parchment, itself, and the beautifully inked swirls of old-fashioned text.

Dear Ms. Rosenberg,

I hope this missive finds you well. There have been goings on at the Council of which you need to be made aware…

After the first line, Willow became distracted by Thespia’s soft humming, the melody drawing her attention away from the message from home.

“Is it good news?”

Willow blushed and turned back to the parchment, intent on deciphering the words in front of her without getting flustered by Thespia’s presence.

Dimensions… Shifts… blah, blah.

Physics… Time differentials… blahdy blah blah.

 _And to think we all thought Giles was Mr. Stuffy-Man,_ she snickered softly to herself, quickly scanning the rest of the scroll, barely registering the words as she read, until…

In an attempt at harnessing demon-kind into its service, I fear my brother Nathaniel has done something quite unforgivable. They have taken one we all hold dear from the bosom of his family and I feel your services are desperately needed in order to return him safely to his home.

He is out of control… untrustworthy. Your immediate attention is crucial! Young William is in desperate need of assistance. You must understand, it is vital for you to return post-haste!

Yours truly,

Lydia Chalmers,  
Acting in conjunction with Rupert Giles  
Council of Watchers

Willow’d only skimmed over the scroll’s contents until the final line, and the boy’s name focused her attention sharply. She frantically searched the missive line-by-line, looking for the details. Her breath hitched as she reached the end once more.

“Oh my Goddess!” she whispered, horror coloring her words. “The Council… they couldn’t… how could they?” Willow looked at Thespia with desperation in her green eyes. “How could Giles let this happen? Will’s just a kid. Angel must be out of his vampy mind with worry!”

“What is wrong, my dove? Must you leave now?” Her eyes wide, Thespia wiped a few stray tears from Willow’s cheek.

“I… I have no choice.”

Willow was gently enfolded in Thespia’s beckoning arms, struggling to maintain her composure; wishing she didn’t have to leave.

“But I can come back, right?” she sniffled, feeling nearly as torn up as when Oz left her all those years ago. “I couldn’t stand it if this was the end. I mean, it’s just the beginning of…”

Thespia’s fingers brushed through the curtain of red hair in front of Willow’s face. “You will always be welcome here, my heart. For all time.”

“And beyond?”

“And longer than that,” she promised, drawing a small, silver circlet about the size of a quarter, from the air. “All you have to do is wear this pin close to your heart, and I will know when you wish to return. Wherever you will be, I will hear your heart’s desire.”

“Oh, look at that lip… all pokey,” Willow teased, barely restrained tears shining bright in her green eyes. “You’re being so brave for me, Thia. I’m all with the not wanting to go and you give me a sure-fire way back. I’ll never take it off,” she promised, even as the portal opened before her. “I’m just sorry I don’t have…”

“Do not worry, my Willow. If the scroll manifests before you return, I will make sure you receive it.”

Clutching at Thespia tightly, despairingly, Willow crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss, and then ducked through the portal without looking back, the circlet pinned to her sweater; directly over her heart.


	43. Down in the Valley

William sat on one of the few remaining unbroken pieces of marble edging the pool; eyes closed, head back. He basked in the peace and quiet – which were unexpectedly broken by his protesting squawk as his ankles were grasped by a pair of cold, wet hands and he was dragged into the water.

The shock of finding himself immersed in frigid water was followed instantly by a shove against his butt from underneath, forcing him to the surface, rapidly. Will sputtered while treading water, twisting this way and that, looking for whoever dragged him under but finding himself alone.

With a splash, little fingers covered his eyes as he was grabbed from behind and then he felt it… lips! On his cheek! Girl lips!

“Just you wait, Buffy,” he cried as she dove back into the water, putting some distance between them. It had to be her…nobody else knew where to find him. Sure enough Will spotted his assailant treading water several feet away. He swam in her direction, somewhat hampered by his now-sodden clothing. “When you least expect it, your ass is grass!”

“That’s what you always say,” the young girl snickered, sending wavelets crashing in his direction before she turned. All he saw were the soles of her feet as she vanished once more beneath the mirror-like surface of the pool.

By the time he caught up with her, a dark shadow loomed directly overhead, partially blocking the sun. Startled, Will looked up… way, way up, to a many-tentacled statue that filled his vision, and shuddered. It was monstrous – horrifying. Yet… the longer he stared, the more familiar – and safer – it felt.

Swimming up behind him, Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Will,” she whispered, giving him a firm hug. “He’s watching over us. To protect us.”

“Is that God?” Will couldn’t keep the awe from his voice.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. She grabbed a reed growing through the cracks in the marble at the deeper end of the pool, close to the statue’s base, and nibbled on it, thoughtfully.

“A god… an Old One,” she settled on as her explanation. “Older than the stones. Older than the grass. Even older’n people!”

“Older than dinosaurs?”

“Yup!”

“Older than dirt?”

“Shhhh, it’s resting now,” Buffy whispered. “It needs to gather strength to keep us all safe.”

Clambering out of the pool, she shook herself dry in the sun. All yellow hair and… and… not much else!

He followed her movements closely, unable to tear his eyes away. Buffy spread her arms; a ray of sunlight caught the gold bracelets encircling her biceps and sparkled. She even had a gold tiara of some sort woven into her hair.

“Why are you still in the water, silly? Your lips are turning blue!”

Startled out of his daze, Will felt the warmth of a blush creep into his cheeks.

“You’re n-naked,” he stammered.

“So are you,” Buffy pointed out. “No need to cover anything up here. Illyria sees everything.”

Will glanced down at himself, and sure enough, his clothing had disappeared, and he was as naked as she.

“But it’s not right,” he tried again.

“Were we ever?”

Buffy held out her hand, helping Will out of the water.

He lost his footing on the wet marble, and struggled to maintain his balance.

“Hang on, Will. Don’t let go,” she cried, gripping his hand as tightly as she could.

It was no use, however. Will’s fingers were too slippery, and he felt himself falling backwards into the water.

***

Pain.

Agony.

The white light was blinding and Will’s eyes teared uncontrollably. He felt himself being carried and laid down on something hard. His body shook convulsively, though he was barely able to move much more than his head and his fingers with conscious effort. And cold! He was sure his toes would fall off from frostbite.

In the absolute quiet, Will felt straps being buckled around his ankles and wrists and wondered why they bothered. It wasn’t like he could get up and run away. Or had anyone left to run to.

“Buffy!”

Her name was barely recognizable as it made it past his parched lips, but it was enough to set the old man off. He grabbed Will’s head and viciously dug his sharp-nailed fingers into his ears. The sounds came back with a vengeance as the earplugs were torn out: the clanking of metal; the rustle of cloth; the clomping of shoes on a tiled floor… and then that hated voice – harsh and painful.

“You will never lay your filthy hands on another Slayer,” Thing One spat as he moved fully into Will’s field of vision. “You and that animal, Angelus, should have been dust centuries ago.”

The old man motioned to someone Will couldn’t see.

“Dr. Potter,” he called, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “The demon is as vulnerable and close to the surface as it’s ever going to be after eight hours in a sensory-deprivation tank. I want samples taken and analyzed, immediately. If you have to take it apart cell by cell, we _will_ find the physical aspects that make it less than human.”

_Oh God_

Will could hear the doctor fiddling about with stuff on a metal tray above his head. With each _clank_ his belly twisted in fear. Nothing good could come from this.

“Evelyn! What the bloody hell is the hold-up here?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” the doctor apologized. “I can’t seem to find the local anesthetic.”

Thing One’s gloved hands grabbed Will’s arm and held it tightly against the table to which he was bound.

“No time and no need,” he snarled. “Simply take what you need. Its discomfort will affect neither us nor the usefulness of the samples.”

“Very well, then,” the doctor replied. “Let us begin.”

Will made out the blurry shape of a shiny scalpel, and swallowed convulsively as it was lowered to his arm.

_Don’t let it hurt, don’t let it hurt, don’t… that didn’t hurt. Why didn’t that hurt?_

The first few scrapes of the instrument were totally painless, like a fingernail scratching an itch, and the boy relaxed. Unfortunately the calm didn’t last for long as Thing One’s grip became firmer, and the doctor’s scalpel continued to scrape until the area began to sting.

“Hurts,” he groaned, as the scalpel moved from area to area, leaving painful little hotspots in its wake.

“Quiet, demon,” Thing One hissed, digging his fingers even harder into Will’s thigh, as the doctor continued her scrapings.

Will tried to be brave. The pain wasn’t bad, but it was continuous. Arms; pits; legs; feet, neck; belly… all received the same, impersonal treatment. Nobody spoke to him, they just poked, prodded and scraped.

The doctor’s next words struck a note of terror in the boy’s heart:

“Please hold the head steady.”

Thing One’s harsh fingers gripped Will’s hair and pulled down, not allowing him the small movements he could make.

When Will saw something coming straight at his eyes he panicked. Were they going to cut them out? He tried to wriggle out of his captor’s hands, but was unsuccessful.

The doctor’s gloved fingers held his left eye open and scraped over the surface. He waited for the pain to blossom… and waited. Nothing.

“Make sure you use enough swabs, Evelyn,” the hated voice rang in Will’s ears. “We’ll need to run several tests for each set of samples.”

_No wonder. Just big old q-tips._

Will could do nothing as his eyes were swabbed, or his nostrils and ears. His jaws were pried apart and he expected more of the same.

He gasped at the first touch of the sharp blade to his inner cheek. By the time the doctor was finished, tears were running from his eyes. The roof of his mouth hurt, the gums throbbed, and his tongue was on fire.

“What about hair samples, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce? I need to extract strands with the root intact to be of any value.”

“That will be no problem, Dr. Potter.” Thing One grabbed a small curl of hair and yanked… hard.

Will gagged from the pain. As he watched, several droplets of blood fell from the follicle ends where the hair had been ripped from his scalp. There was a look of sick satisfaction on Thing One’s face as he passed his hair to the doctor

Dr. Potter nodded her head. “Those should do nicely, indeed.” A few rustles and clinks that Will couldn’t make sense of, and both the doctor and Thing One moved to the other side of the room.

He breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe they’d let him rest now. They’d taken what they wanted, and now they’d leave him alone.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The doctor brought several paper-wrapped packages over to the metal tray by Will’s head and wheeled it down by his feet. A long piece of clear plastic tubing and a bag came into view, and he couldn’t figure out what they were going to do with it.

“Oh, shit!”

Will managed to turn his head towards the harsh words.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Harris?” Thing One asked the guard standing by the door.

“No, Sir. S-sorry,” the man stammered. “It’s just… it’s well past the end of my shift, and I have to… I need to get…”

“It’s been a long night for us all.” Thing One sighed. “Just make sure Mr. Forbes takes your place before you leave the grounds.”

The man nodded, and left the room in a hurry, slamming the door behind him.

Will watched, eyes wide with apprehension, as the doctor moved in between his legs and reached for…

“No! Leggo!” he screamed, his voice raw and scratchy. “Don’t touch me there!” He bucked his hips with all his might, but the slight movement wasn’t enough to get the doctor to release his penis.

“Sir, if it doesn’t hold still while the Foley is inserted, there will be tissue damage,” she complained. “The samples will be compromised.”

With fury blazing in his eyes, Thing One grabbed Will’s face and forced the boy to focus on him.

“Be silent! Any more noise from you and Dr. Potter will put an end to your miserable existence and we shall send your body back to the woman who raised you,” he growled, spittle flying everywhere. “We will then begin all over again with Angelus. Do you think we’ll be as easy on that beast as we have been on you? The Council will be more than happy to make it pay for all the death and destruction it caused during its heyday.”

 _Angel… Dad!_ He hadn’t thought of _family_ or _home_ in forever. Not with EJ and Mr. Chalmers in his life. But they were gone now. This creep _killed_ them for no reason, and now he wanted to hurt his real family.

“No. Don’t,” he cried. “Please leave them alone.”

“Continue, Evelyn. I believe you’ll have no more trouble.”

Will held his breath and bit his tongue in an effort not to cry out as the plastic tube was inserted into a place nothing was meant to go. His tears ran down his cheeks and onto the table, and he wished it would all go away.

_Will! Look at me._

He had to be hallucinating. Will could have sworn he heard…

_Hurry, Will. Take my hand._

Sure enough, Buffy stood right next to him, her arms outstretched – reaching for him.

_Take my hand, Will. We’ll go someplace safe… back to Illyria. Hurry!_

***

Buffy sat in the shade of the God King’s statue, cradling her friend’s head in her lap.

“Rest now, kiddo,” she whispered, carding her fingers through Will’s curls. “Let me take the pain for a little while.”

She watched as his furrowed brow smoothed in sleep, no outward marks from the creeps who tortured his body and soul. Gently easing him onto the grass, Buffy took a deep breath and began to sing softly, gently stroking his back in time to the words:

_Early one morning, just as the sun was rising,  
I heard a maid singing in the valley below;  
“O don’t deceive me,  
O do not leave me!  
How could you use a poor maiden so?”_

As soon as the final word had left her lips in a strangled wheeze, she grabbed her knees, rocking herself back and forth. A thin line of blood trickled down her back, dotting her shirt, as she psychically absorbed the brunt of Will’s physical pain, and she bit her own arm to prevent her cries from waking him.

***

“Dad! You need to calm down,” Connor’s voice rang across the private airstrip. “Remember your… condition?”

Angel couldn’t control his demon, flashing bits of amber in his angry brown eyes. For the first time Angelus was forcing his way to the fore through all of the defenses the souled vampire had erected over the decades. He roughly fisted Connor’s shirt, bringing his son nose-to-nose.

“He’s screaming for me,” Angel growled. “I can feel him, Connor. Will’s in agony and I stand here with some lackey driver because Giles can’t be bothered picking us up?”

He turned to the livery driver now cowering against his car. “What can be more important than finding my son?”

“I-if y-you p-please, Sir,” the chauffeur stammered in his fear. “All I know is that… that there was a pressing emergency, and Mr. Giles said you were to be driven to his office, immediately. I don’t know anything about a missing lad. I’m sorry for your…”

“Enough!” Charlotte put out her hands, forcing Angel to back away from the terrified man. “We can stand here and scare the guy to death, or get in the car and see what the situation is.”

Angel relented, throwing himself into the car and slumping back in his seat in stony silence. Flanked on either side by Connor and Charlotte, they began the next leg of their rescue.


	44. A Crisis of Conscience

Permission granted to leave, Xander threw open the door and pulled it shut behind him as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He’d lived on a hellmouth: he knew what that was actually like. He also knew he wasn’t going to make it back to the guards’ quarters. Hunching over the nearest potted plant, Xander noisily upchucked the contents of his stomach.

Staring at the bits and pieces of his regurgitated breakfast, he wondered what the hell had he gotten himself involved in?

“Bugger it, Harris! Chum’s for fishing, not fertilizing the plants.” Ernest Forbes jovial voice rang through the empty hallway. A hearty clap on the shoulder sent Xander to the planter for round two.

Pasty-faced, Xander looked up at his relief with… relief.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” he said, weakly. “Looks like something I ate didn’t agree with me.”

Forbes wrinkled his nose and moved away from the foul-smelling planter. “Don’t think it would agree with anyone else, either. Just leave the sodding mess for housekeeping and go lie down in your room. My shift is about to start, anyway.”

Xander nodded, and instantly regretted the movement. He headed down the corridor towards the security quarters, William’s cries of terror escaping as Forbes slipped into the room.

 _I didn’t sign on for this,_ he thought, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets.

***

Xander heard laughter coming from the dayroom as he entered, and made a beeline straight for the water cooler. He swished a small cupful in his mouth and spat it into the trashcan, needing to get that pukey taste out of his mouth. He started for the sleeping quarters, but his eyes caught the action in the monitor room. Two screens – one with a DVD player for the crew’s entertainment, the other a live-feed showing Mr. and Mrs. Mengele as they continued to torment the kid… William… Spike. 

Pete Thompson’d called him over to watch some lame old comedy most everyone was watching. Those men not sleeping should have been spending their time watching their boss and his prey in case something were to go wrong and extra muscle was called for. They should have… but they weren’t. In fact, the sound was turned down low so it wouldn’t interfere with their laugh-fest.

A scream rent the air, even at the reduced volume, and all eyes turned towards the monitor on the right. The child was lying on his side, struggling, strapped down around his waist, and… son of a bitch! What is it with those people and hoses?

Xander shuddered and looked away, expecting sympathy from his fellow guards, but they’d already gone back to their movie, stuffing all kinds of snacky goodness into their mouths, and talking about the latest soc… football scores and family stories.

Sid Watson paused the movie and told his mates of his twelve year old daughter Mary’s poodle… how it’d escaped its leash and been hit by a neighbor on his bicycle.

“My kid was just beside herself. She was going on and on about how it was all her fault. Insisted on coming with us to the vet’s, carried on all the time we were there. Dog’s a funny colour now – all purple – just fitting for an animal with a stuck-up name like ‘Miss Lady Lulu of Leicester’.” The men sniggered.

He pushed on, pulling a spare pillow from the closet. “And you should have seen how our Mary pampered the creature – carrying her round on a bloody cushion for days till we stopped her. Mind you, it was two days before it could walk without crashing into walls – those drugs were powerful. And the wife was no better – only gave the flipping dog the piece of steak I’d been promised for my tea. I’d been drooling about that all day, I had.”

Once again their attention was drawn to the live-feed by high-pitched keening, and Sid was annoyed enough to turn the sound completely off.

“Oh for crying out loud! How am I supposed to finish my story with that bloody racket going on? If he wants us he can use the blasted alarm. Anyway,” Sid continued, “I have to admit it wasn’t much fun seeing the little thing in pain. Didn’t last, though – she’s making a real mess of the cast – coming off next week, thank God. That Lulu needs a bath. A scented bath, if you know what I mean. Still, I suppose the kid’s learnt something from this.”

Pete nodded his head vigorously. “Oh yeah. Gotta treat pets with kindness. Teaches kids about care and responsibility for another living creature. Hopefully it rubs off in how they treat other people, too.”

Xander gasped, disbelief evident on his face.

“I take it you’re not an animal lover, Harris?”

“What can I say, Sid? Animals, kids… all the same. Not for me, the family life.” He quickly swallowed another cupful of water, anxious to leave the room. “There’s a reason I live alone. Choice.” Xander waved the guy off, hoping to forestall an argument. “I’m beat, fellas. Just gonna knock off until my next shift.”

“Make sure to take your firearm out’ve your trousers before you nod off,” Pete called out from across the room, joining in a hearty laugh with most of the guys. “Anyone ever tell you ‘bout young Danny’s first week on the job?”

“Shut your gob, Thompson!” the man in question growled with not a little heat. “Ain’t you ever made a mistake?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never mistaken my pistol for my prick,” Pete practically crowed with delight as the youngest member of the team burned red with embarrassment. “Didn’t blow off my little toe, neither.”

Xander quietly closed the door, hoping sleep would come quickly and drown thoughts he’d rather not be thinking.

***

 

_sigh_

_toss_

_turn_

_remove gun from pants pocket because it was damned uncomfortable, not because of Danny’s blasted little toe._

Xander pulled the pillow over his face, biting it to keep his scream of frustration from being heard. His mind was racing and sleep was not going to come, no matter how in need of it he was,

Staring at the white cotton, he tried to figure out how he became embroiled in this… this… mess.

_“Steady now, Harris…Forbes. Any moment now…_

_Xander stood on the right side of the door, Ernest on the left, each with a shiny new gun – the latest equipment from Wyndam-Pryce. He’d checked it out cautiously. Sure, he’d had some training with firearms in Africa, but he’d never really used one on a demon before. Especially one as dangerous and wily as the old Watcher had warned this one was._

_All he knew was that he wanted to prove himself capable in the eyes of his boss; show everyone that he belonged in the Council, and wasn’t just along for the ride because of whom he knew. Even if that was partially true._

_The door opened and a young girl barreled in, freezing Xander in his tracks. Wyndam-Pryce couldn’t have meant… He watched as Forbes quickly restrained the girl, who was followed momentarily by an even younger boy. He broke free of his stasis and grabbed the boy. To be on the safe side, he gripped the boys’s wrists firmly behind his back. If the demon was after children…_

_**crash** _

_Ooookay, so maybe he was missing some information – the girl must be a Slayer, the way Forbes was down on his ass. And if so, what the hell did he need security for? Even as young as she was. And what of little blondie?_

_“William, Emma Jane… what’s wrong?” A man’s voice came from the hallway before he entered the room._

_Xander assumed this was the office’s official occupant. Wait… William?_

_“Ah, Nathaniel, how nice of you to join my little party.” Wyndam-Pryce sneered as he turned around, facing forward. “Slowly, now,” he warned, aiming his own gun at the kid. “And lock the door behind you, or the boy dies immediately.”_

_The man closed and locked the door, and Xander waited for orders, looking back and forth between Wyndam-Pryce, Forbes, and the kid he was holding on to. If the boy was a demon, why weren’t they simply throwing some potion or herb concoction over him to reveal it? That's what Giles would have done._

_“Let go of me, arse-face.” Mini-Mite stomped down hard on Forbes’ foot, but her soft-soled sneakers had little effect and she was unable to escape. “Mr. Chalmers?”_

_The girl’s cry for help was ignored. “What is going on here, Roger? Why are you man-handling my charges?”_

_“Nothing for you to be concerned about, Nathaniel. I’m returning logic and balance to the program you’ve managed to cock up so completely.” He snorted his derision, steadying the gun and re-training it on William’s chest. “It’s imperative we repair the mistake I made in allowing you to treat that little monster as if he were human.”_

_“Letting me?” Nathaniel spluttered. “You were removed from the project by the Council Board, Roger, or don’t you remember?”_

_Oh, shit, Xander thought. This is the man I’ve pledged my allegiance to? He’s fucking nuts!_

_Wyndam-Pryce was livid, banging on the desk in frustration. “Because of you. Because you were too weak to see this little monster for what he truly is. He’s fooled you. Pulled the wool over your eyes.”_

_Xander felt the kid’s body tense at the older man’s derogatory statements. Maybe he should just let him go? If the girl was a Slayer, maybe he wasn’t a threat. So, who was the demon? Was there even a demon in the first place? It was possible Wyndam-Pryce just flat-out lied to him._

_Chalmers’ voice rambled on and on, but Xander tuned it out._

_The name Chalmers struck an oddly familiar note. Wait… what was it? That Brit living with Deadboy/ Which made this kid, William –_

_Spike! Holy shit – he had Spike in his clutches. Spike the wonder-vamp at his mercy, even. But this was just a kid. Willow and Dawn had been trying to drum that into his head forever, but it only made sense now._

_He was so distracted by the possibilities running around in his head, that the order for Forbes to shoot came as a complete surprise, and he flinched as the gun went off, tightening his grip on the kid’s shoulders._

_Xander's breath caught; a red spot formed near the girl's shoulder, blood dripping down her shirt. In his mind’s eye, he saw Buffy lying on the ground, shot by Warren. He was frozen in shock, unable to let go of the boy, struck motionless._

_The younger watcher knelt down next to his Slayer. All those potentials killed. Buffy. Xander had to fight the urge to vomit again, and still he held fast to his charge._

_“Why?” the boy screamed. “EJ’s not a monster. She’s a Slayer - a good guy. Why would you…”_

_Buffy died in his arms, waiting for the ambulance, Tara's body bleeding out in the upstairs bedroom she’d shared with Willow…_

_What was it Buffy always said about guns? Not helpful._

_And with every second Wyndam-Pryce grew more insane._

_“She was a Slayer,” Wyndam-Pryce spat. “One that you contaminated by your very presence. She should have taken you out the moment you met instead of playing pat-a-cake with you. Her blood is on your hands.”_

_He turned his attention to the younger Watcher, never changing the gun’s trajectory. “You were paving the way for another Buffy Summers,” he sneered. “A vampire layer in the making. Never again, Chalmers.”_

_Xander couldn't believe his ears. The man was several cards short of a full deck, blaming the girl’s death on Spi… William._

_The boy sank into Xander’s grasp, no longer fighting._

_“I didn't do anything to EJ, she's my friend,” he cried, seeming to shrink in on himself, small and frail._

_“Just a child,” Chalmer’s whispered as the girl died in his arms._

_Like the child Xander was holding onto, now._

_“She was a weapon… a weapon you corrupted irreparably by involving it with that demon-spawn. Death was a mercy for her. Worthless trash that couldn't tell the difference between a demon and a human.”_

_Xander’s nausea rose another level. How much difference could there really be between demons and humans, if a human being could so ruthlessly end the life of one child just for being friends with an ex-vampire… one who was torn apart over her death._

_Just a little boy – he got that now – understood just what Dawn had been trying to drum into his head for so long. Human. What he had been didn’t matter anymore._

_Just a child._

_He heard a scuffle. Chalmers had tried to rise and aim his own gun, but failed, slipping in the puddle of his Slayer’s blood. Wyndam-Pryce was yelling at Will again._

_Will twisted in his arms and let out a scream, surprising Xander with a kick to his nads. He crumpled to the ground in a white-hot burst of pain, and the boy looked back at him, catching his gaze and not letting him look away. He was filled with a rage that Xander had often seen in the adult Spike, and it was horrifying in a child’s face._

_He wanted to tell the boy he was on his side, that he’d get them both out of this somehow… when Will reached down and picked up the gun Chalmers must have dropped. He was shaking so hard, he was more likely to shoot himself than anyone else in the room._

_“You call me a demon, and… and maybe I am, S-sir,” he stammered, pointing the gun in Wyndam-Pryce’s direction. “But I never hurt anyone on purpose… before.”_

_Yes… yes you have, Xander thought wildly, only to realize, no he hadn't. Spike had. This boy probably stepped out of the way to let ants pass._

_“Don’t do it, lad,” Chalmers called from the floor. He seemed to be holding onto his ankle, unable to rise. “Fight your instincts. We’ll get through this, together.”_

_“So what’s stopping you, demon?” Wyndam-Pryce sneered, raising his arms in a mockery of a crucifixion. “Surely you have the balls to fire that weapon? Unless it’s too much for an ignorant beast like you. Go ahead and fire if you dare.”_

_Will’s finger pulled the trigger back a little… then a little more, until…_

_“Need a little more incentive?” Wyndam-Pryce raised his gun and fired twice, destroying the top of Nathaniel Chalmers’ skull, spraying bone fragments, brain matter and fluids everywhere, including over and across William, himself, and Xander._

_Oh God! Oh God! Xander inwardly panicked. He had to get them out of there before the crazy old man turned the gun on him._

_But this was Spike... or had been Spike. Or would be Spike? And he had a soul… then again, so did Spike at the end. His head spun. Two humans dead… at the hand of another… and Xander was afraid. Afraid if he made a move, he'd be dead as well. It was cowardly. Buffy wouldn't have hesitated to put herself in the way._

“And you let him get away with it.”

_Huh?_

Xander turned, finding himself face-to-face with a large, smoke-filled mirror, and…

A very familiar gray raincoat.

“Oh no. It’s you again,” he groaned.

And in his very uncomfortable bed, Xander stretched out his aching limbs and turned over, burying his face deeper into the pillow.


	45. When the Shit Hits the Fan

“Oh, it’s you again,” he groaned. “Why are you always in my head when I’m miserable?”

“Because it’s the only time you stop your inner-babble long enough to listen to common sense?” she teased, then grew more serious. “Because I’m still your hero? Because you still believe in me? You always thought I could do no wrong... except choose the man in my life.”

“Well, you do have a lousy track record… even Spike agreed,” he sighed, running his eyes over her familiar presence.

Buffy.

Buffy in a short, gray raincoat.

And high heels.

Mega deja-vu.

“I thought you said Spike was full of crap?” Buffy looked down at her outfit, face scrunched into a tight little moue of irritation.

”Do you mind, Xander? It’s rather hard to be serious if this is the way you see me,” she complained.

A small, lopsided grin graced his face. “Well, it _is_ my imagination, Buffster. What did you expect? I’m a guy… sorta goes with the territory. Doesn’t matter if I’m seventeen, or thirty-four.”

“Not that it’s of any importance, but it was a little black-satin number with lapels – not like I’d ever get caught… well, dead… in a raincoat.”

“Did I _mention_ the guy thing?”

Xander shook his head, trying not to laugh at her expression.

“Fashion sense and me? Not mixy, as a certain blond used to say.”

The pointed tap-tapping of her shoe turned into a dull thud, as it was replaced with a white sneaker.

“Better,” she said, taking in her tight blue jeans and skimpy halter top. “But…”

Replaced with a long, bulky fisherman-knit sweater.

“There ya go – I knew you had it in you.”

“I get it – I do,” he admitted, a slight blush warming his cheeks. “We’re friends. Just friends. And I’ve got a handle on it.” A devious grin lit his face as the raincoat ensemble made a return visit, before fading back into the jeans outfit. “Most of the time.”

“Listen, Xander… we don’t have time for old, childish fantasies. You need to look into the mirror. Now!”

The smoke cleared and the image showed him shoving a restrained William into the duffel bag.

“Why didn’t you fight for him?”

“I-I’m not you, Buffy. I don’t have super powers. That nut-job would have killed me and had him, anyway.”

Another puff of smoke, and there was Will, shakily holding the gun on Wyndam-Pryce.

“You don’t need super powers… though I’ll agree… they do help. Look at him, Xander. A little boy, standing up for himself. Protecting the man he views as his mentor. Surely you could have done as much for a small, scared kid.”

He hung his head with shame. She was right, of course. Even if he’d failed, it would have been the right thing to do.

***

Gayle Cunningham recognized the vampire storming through the Council halls. Of course she did; he was infamous. It was also the first time she'd been this close to any vampire. He was larger than she’d imagined; dark, intense eyes and a predator’s mien. He was in human-face, but the anger distorted his features in such a way that he might as well have been sporting fangs.

No way in hell was she going to try and restrain him by herself. The silent alarms had already been tripped by his entrance. Eventually one of the security guards would make themselves known.

Gayle felt as if she were being dragged along in his wake. Besides, natural curiosity won out over cowardice. It wasn’t likely she’d get another chance to observe such an historical figure up close and personal.

A swift look over her shoulder showed that Angelus had developed an entourage. An additional entourage. He was already being shadowed by a young black woman and a tall, thin, younger man. They were sucking people along after them like an industrial-strength vacuum cleaner. Talk about animal magnetism – people couldn’t help but follow… even if only to see the inevitable train wreck when he’d reached his destination.

And my goodness… was he actually _growling?_

Sure enough, about a dozen security men and Watchers stood shoulder-to-shoulder just up ahead, blocking access to the inner offices, their fear palpable even to Gayle. They were well trained, however. Bravely, if not accurately, they shot off their crossbows, one after the other, in an attempt to halt the rampaging demon barreling towards them.

She almost sniggered as he bowled right through their ranks, sending the guards toppling down like skittles – their weapons scattering as they hit the ground. Not a one rose to risk the vampire’s wrath as he continued on, scenting the air, before heading down another corridor.

_Oh, my!_

Gayle heard Ms. Rosenberg’s angry voice through the closed door of poor Mr. Chalmers’ office. It was surprising that the witch had returned, unannounced and unexpected. Most travelers to the Library followed a strict schedule. Comings and goings were certainly haphazard around here lately.

Again, the door proved no impediment to the furious vampire, as Angelus simply slammed through it, not taking the time to knock.

Startled faces turned towards the crowd as the door splintered apart, the vampire uncaring of the shards of wood embedding themselves into his skin.

“Angel?”

Ms. Rosenberg halted her tirade and… oh yes, she did indeed run towards Angelus and wrap her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Angel. I just heard about what happened to Will,” she cried, not backing away in the slightest as he attempted to disengage from her arms. Giles just told me. Are you and Nina all right?”

Gayle paled at the stupidity of that question. Couldn’t she feel it? Couldn’t she see just how close Angelus was to ripping something – someone – apart?

“Where the hell have you been?” he roared, finally pushing free, leaving the redhead standing there, stunned at his anger.

“A-at the C-council’s inter-dimensional Library,” she stammered, looking back and forth between Giles and Angel. “I-I’ve been trying to find a way to free Buffy, which I thought was of major importance to everyone.”

Noticing Connor and Charlotte for the first time, she must have realized something was wrong. “Okay. Will somebody tell me what’s going on here? I mean, I’ve been gone a month, and there’ve been kidnappings of children, and murders, and… and Giles is being awfully closed-mouthy, even for a stuffy, old British guy.”

Angelus stared at her as if she’d grown a second head, before getting back to the reason for his presence in Council headquarters.

“My boy’s been missing for more than half a year. How the hell do you think I am?” he spat, his eyes cold and dark; voice low and deadly. “My family is broken and bleeding, and I want… I need…”

He grabbed a small framed picture from the corner of the late Mr. Chalmers’ desk and stared at it for a moment – before dashing it against the wall, spraying glass fragments everywhere upon impact.

Ms. Rosenberg looked frozen, picking up the mangled photograph. 

“How can this be?” she demanded, waving the picture about. “I know this is Will, ‘cause he’s certainly starting to look a lot like Spike… but he shouldn’t be this old. He was just a little kid last time I spoke with him. I mean, nobody grows up so fast in a couple of months.”

Connor’s eyes seemed to glimmer with amusement for a moment, but it passed, and he schooled his features rapidly into an unemotional mask.

Angelus’ boiling anger and frustration reasserted themselves with a window-rattling roar.

“Can we cut the chit-chat here?” he snarled. Grabbing the picture out of Ms. Rosenberg’s hands, he stared at the image, tracing the boy’s face with his finger; trembling with a terrible rage. “Giles, where the hell is my son? I thought you said he’d be here.”

“Circumstances have changed, Angel,” the Head Watcher tried to explain. “There have been a series of unfortunate incidents since we set this rescue in motion.”

“I don’t care if the damned building was bombed to smithereens again, you bastard,” he glowered, shaking a fist in Mr. Giles’ direction. “That piece of shit – Chalmers – is gonna see first-hand just how long a vampire can keep his meal bleeding and in pain by the time…”

A sharp gasp came from Ms. Lydia, as she broke into tears, collapsing into a nearby chair.

“Angel, please,” the young woman who had come with the vampire implored, laying her arm gently on his massive shoulder. “Something is very, very wrong here.”

Gayle found herself wishing she could cross over to Ms. Lydia to ease her distress, but found herself unable to move, frozen by indecision and not a little fear.

To his credit, Mr. Giles made his way painfully to her side.

“Angel,” the man hissed, letting Lydia cry against his shoulder. “Nathaniel Chalmers is dead. He…he was murdered last night by Roger Wyndam-Pryce. He died in defense of your son.”

Taking Ms. Chalmers’ hand, he continued. “Lydia, here, is Nathaniel’s younger sister. Hugh’s older sister.” He stood, stiffly stretching his limbs and leaning heavily on his cane, putting himself between the grieving woman and the furious vampire. “Lydia played a huge part in keeping the lad safe and happy these past months, and she is one of the main reasons you’re here for a rescue mission, and not a funeral.”

At that, Charlotte _did_ cross the room, taking Ms. Chalmers into her arms as they cried, together, over the loss of family.

“Oh, Lydia, this is awful,” she exclaimed. “We have to call Hugh, immediately. He’ll be devastated.”

Angelus growled, sentiment not playing on his un-beating heartstrings.

“And I’m supposed to care about that bastard? After what he did to my William?

“At least he’s still alive,” Mr. Giles insisted. “Roger also murdered a young Slayer under Nathaniel’s care. An innocent – an eleven year old child. The girl in the picture with Will that you destroyed. Apparently, they were both shot in front of our lad, and he was then spirited away by that madman.”

“Goddess help us,” Ms. Rosenberg whispered. “How can this be happening? Aren’t we supposed to be the good guys? Giles… what can we do? Why haven’t we done something already?”

“We have several mini-vans at our disposal, ready and waiting to head out towards the Wyndam-Pryce estate. I’m sure he’s being held there.” Giles sat down, heavily, his poor health and the situation taking its toll on his stamina. “The wetworks contingent is ready on a moment’s notice, and we’ve a small medical team at the ready, as well.” He motioned to the man who’d appeared at the door. “Do come in, Dr. MacGuire. I’d like you to meet Angel, William’s father.”

“Pleased to meet…” Mac offered his hand as manners dictated, but immediately withdrew it at the vampire’s warning growl. 

“Mac, here, is well known to William. We figured he would be more at ease with a familiar face – with someone he trusts,” Mr. Giles offered, trying to diffuse the tension that seemed to be growing by the moment.

The look on Angelus’ face would have cowed lesser men. “As opposed to the unfamiliar faces of his own _mother and father?_ And do I even have to ask why a young, healthy boy would be on such intimate terms with the medical profession?”

“I tried, Mr. Angel,” Dr. MacGuire shoved his hands into his lab coat. “It was my job. Look, I understand your objections, but if it wasn’t me, it would have been someone with far less interest in your lad’s comfort and safety. I’ve got sons of my own, you know.”

“You people are disgusting,” the woman holding on to a sobbing Ms. Chalmers spat. “Same old excuses coming from every little flunky. ‘I was just doing my job. Just following orders.’ I swear that somewhere along the line, folks seem to have lost the ability to think for themselves.”

“Nate just wanted to help the boy – make him a force for good.” Dr. MacGuire tried to defend his colleague’s actions. “Figured if he could control the lad’s demon, he’d be all the stronger for it.”

The dark-haired young man who’d been silent since he’d followed Angelus into the office, suddenly stood in the doctor’s personal space, glowering fiercely.

“That’s how Holtz used to justify my kidnapping. ‘To protect me’. After all, how could the son of two evil, soulless things be any kind of good?”

Gayle gasped at the revelation.

“Dear Lord! Two children… no wonder…” she babbled nervously, wringing her hands at the depth of the vampire’s betrayal. “Oh, Mr. Angel! I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, Gayle,” Giles soothed, leading the young woman to a seat. “Roger Wyndam-Pryce is not the Council, Connor. And whilst I in no way condoned the ‘project’ he and Nathaniel were involved in, at least Chalmers had done his best to mitigate the damage done. If I hadn’t been ill, there would have been no way I’d have allowed young Will to have been ripped from the bosom of his family.”

He limped over to Nathaniel’s desk, dropping heavily into the swivel chair and laying his cane down on the floor.

“Do I need to remind you, Angel, that Will is _my_ family, too? My grandson in all but blood for all these years, much as I’d come to view Buffy as my daughter. Slayer, demon, soul, good, evil… meaningless labels when applied en masse. I’ve learned over the years to never judge a group on the basis of one individual.”

Picking up the phone, Giles looked around, making eye contact with each and every person in the room.

“Now, do I set the wheels in motion to go rescue our lad, or do we all want to stand around, laying more blame on one another?”

***

“Harris. Harris! Wake up, you stupid, lazy sod!”

“Just a little longer, Ma? I don’t wanna go to school today.” Xander groaned, shifting to find a more comfortable position.

And gasped as he was met with a face-full of ice-cold water.

“Huh, wha?” he spluttered, jerking upright as he dashed the drool from his lips and the water from his eyes.

Daniel Lovett stood next to his bed with a mischievous grin on his face, and a half glass of water in his right hand.

“Jesus, mate. What’s it take to wake you up?” Daniel shook his head sadly, _tut-tutting_ as he moved out of the bigger man’s way. “Just because you’ve a soft spot for the poor ickle demon doesn’t mean you can just ignore your shift.”

“Soft what? Oh, shit… what time is it?”

Xander hurriedly looked around for his shoes. Good thing he hadn’t undressed before he’d lain down.

“Time enough for you to piss and get out of here,” came Daniel’s rejoinder. “I mean, Forbes is as much due a break as you were, eh?”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks for the wake-up, pal. Wouldn’t want to deal with the old man if I managed to miss my shift entirely.”

“Right, then. Just remember,” Daniel cautioned. “The old git is a stickler for punctuality. Especially the new hires, if you get my drift?”

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha,” Xander muttered, straightening his uniform and running a brush through his cowlicks.

“Look, Harris… it might not be my place to tell you this, but…” Daniel’s voice lost its amusement as he blocked Xander’s way to the door. “But the way you’re acting… you were screaming in your sleep. Maybe this isn’t the line of work for you. It’s not everyone can deal with putting down demons, you know? Especially ones like that little bastard that’s become Wyndam-Pryce’s prize subject. Takes a strong gut – stronger than most men have. There’s no shame if you can’t hack it, mate.”

Xander fought the urge to laugh in his associate’s face. As a scared seventeen-year-old, ignorance was bliss. Now, more than a lifetime later… there wasn’t much that turned his stomach.

“I just…” he started, falling silent when words failed him. How could he explain what he’d lived through? Even to folks who knew what demons and vampires were.

“Let me tell you a quick story, Harris, and then you’d best be off.” Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Xander to follow suit.

“Ten years ago, me and a handful of mates were in San Francisco, checkin’ out the presumed whereabouts of a crazy old vampires, goes by the name of Drusilla. Stood in the middle of the street, surrounded by a bunch of kids – oldest couldn’ta been more than eighteen or so. The way she was bobbin’ and weavin’, we were sure she’d thralled the lot of ‘em.”

He shook his head in disgust, and reached for the half-glass of water he’d put down earlier.

“We tried to rescue them. I mean, there was only one vampire, and six of us, and we’d all been trained with stakes and crossbows.”

”And yet, somehow I have the feeling she wasn’t quite alone, right?” Xander rolled his eyes, knowing where this was headed.

“Turned out they was all turned. Hungry fledglings, eager to please their mistress.” Daniel shuddered at the intense memories. “I barely got away with my life, the rest of my mates weren’t as lucky.” Pulling out a large, silver cross from under his shirt, the man continued. “I remember lying there in a hospital bed, thinking – they were just kids. And yet, if I hadn’t been wearing my crucifix that day, I’d have been as dead as the rest of my team.”

Daniel put his hand on Xander’s shoulder, sympathy showing clear in his eyes. “Just because a demon looks innocent, doesn’t mean a thing. We’re doing good work, Harris. Protecting humanity from death and filth, and if you don’t think you can handle it… if you haven’t the stomach for it… best to find yourself another line of work while you still can. Nobody will hold it against you.”

“Nobody but me,” Xander mumbled, just as Daniel left the room.

After a quick check at the door to ensure he was alone, Xander pulled out his mobile, once more attempting to reach somebody… anybody… who might be able to help him and Will out of their situation.

No luck, however. No Dawn, and still no Willow or Giles. Not even Deadboy’s flunkies were answering the phone. It pissed him off that while he could get a signal, he couldn’t reach anybody; he even tried the pizza place as a last resort, to test out a suspicion that the place might have wards preventing private outgoing calls.

And no way was he going to risk going through the compound’s switchboard. He’d bet dollars to a box full of Krispy Kremes that it was sure to be strictly monitored, and he couldn’t afford drawing the wrong attention in a rescue endeavor.

He caught up with Forbes on the way to the lab, kicking himself for being late.

“Change of plans, Sleeping Beauty,” the guard quipped, clapping him on the shoulder with a heavy hand. “His nibs wants you to meet him at the outdoor kennels near the south wing. Need directions?”

“Nah, got the full tour along with everyone else some two weeks ago. Did he give any reason for the change in venue?”

Forbes shook his head, slight annoyance coloring his voice. “Just get there, Harris. He’s not likely to get any happier the longer you keep him waiting. I’m beat, and I’ve got a bed just waiting for my manly embrace.”

Xander watched as the usually-jovial guard made his way back to his room.

 _What in the world was Wyndam-Pryce up to now?_ Had he been taken off guard-duty because of his earlier weakness in regards to William? The only thing those ramshackle kennels were good for was kindling.

He stopped at the crest of a hill overlooking the kennels. Sure enough, the old man was fiddling around with something in the middle of the first enclosure. Heavy, white fog obscured Xander’s sight momentarily, and when cleared, Roger Wyndam-Pryce could be seen securing a short length of chain to a metal bolt in the ground. Xander figured it must be for a hearty beast – one that would survive nicely under inclement conditions – then giggled to himself. The image of Miss Lady Lulu of Leicester leashed by a chain that outweighed her sprang to mind.

As he neared the kennel, he saw the chain close up and personal. It looked like it was meant to hold a bull elephant.

Only… it wasn’t a bull elephant being dragged by the collar towards the bolt, but a boy. A naked, defenseless, screaming, struggling, little boy.

_William!_

He scarcely looked like the same child he’d seen for the first time just yesterday. The look in his eyes was feral – the only emotion – abject terror.

Once Wyndam-Pryce had succeeded in securing the collar to the chain, he looked up, spying Xander.

“About time you got here, Mr. Harris,” he said, his tone frosty and unwelcoming. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search party for you.”

“Sorry, Sir. Forbes just told me of the… relocation. I’d gone to the lab room, first but…”

Wyndam-Pryce dismissed his words with a flick of the wrist. He closed and locked the kennel door behind him, before holding out the key.

“This is for the fence, only, Harris. Use it to feed the demon and hose the waste. I hold the only key to its collar, and I keep it on my person at all times,” he said, showing off the aforementioned item on a gold chain around his neck.

“Isn’t it a bit… airy to leave him naked, like that? I mean, it’s freezing outside, and that little wooden doghouse doesn’t offer any protection.” Checking out the short chain, Xander had another concern he couldn’t hold back. “Will he even be able to reach the shelter on such a short leash?”

Wyndam-Pryce couldn’t show less concern as he shrugged his shoulders and handed Xander a clipboard with feeding times and the grounds patrol schedule.

All Xander could hope for was the man being overconfident, and that he’d be able to free Will, and take them both as far away as they could get. Unfortunately, it was like the older man could read his mind.

“The collar and chain are be-spelled – made especially to hold the strongest demon. It’s not going anywhere unless I want it so.”

_Another Xander theory shot to hell._

“Then what am I doing here?” he couldn’t help but ask. “If there’s no way he can get loose, why do you need an armed guard? He’s practically unconscious as it is.”

“Because, Mr. Harris, I pay your salary, and this is what your duties are tonight. Stand guard, feed, hose, make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone. Should be simple enough even for an American to handle, don’t you think?”

Xander bristled, but kept his mouth shut as he watched Wyndam-Pryce’s back retreating over the hilltop. ‘Keep it from hurting anyone.’ Hah! The boy couldn’t hurt anyone if he had someone else to do it for him.

He unlatched the fence as soon as the old man was out of sight. Xander’s first thought was to try the chain… maybe the old fart was playing at misdirection and leading him on. If he believed the chain to be unbreakable, then he wouldn’t try to break it.

Will tried to pull away as he caught sight of Xander kneeling down next to him. There was hardly any play in the chain, and all he managed to do was cause the collar to cut into the delicate flesh of his neck.

As he reached out to grasp the chain, Xander felt the heat pouring off Will’s body. God, he was burning up, and he’d obviously caught a chill. The chain rattled with the boy’s shivering.

“William, can you hear me? I don’t know if you remember me, but I won’t hurt you. I promise,” he called out softly, testing the chain and finding it as sound as the bastard had said it was. “C’mon, kid, just look at me. Let me know you’re in there.”

Nothing.

Xander stood, quickly stripping off his jacket and wrapped it around William’s body, trying not to open the small sores that covered so much of his skin. The long-sleeved shirt was next; the arms tied around the boy’s waist and buttoned to cover his legs. He wished he could do more.

It seemed a miracle that the boy was still alive.

“It’ll be okay, Will. Honest. I won’t hurt you,” Xander repeated, softly stroking the boy’s hair. When his fingers found a small, nearly-scabbed spot, he wanted to hit something. How could he have stood by and let them manhandle the child so? Though he’d long since tried to bury the memories of his father’s mistreatment, Xander remembered wishing someone would come along and help him… take him away from there.

William must have felt the same way, yet with all the people surrounding him, nobody lifted a finger in his direction except to cause him more pain.

_How did I ever sink so low? How could I have told Willow that I wanted him dead?_

Xander vowed to redouble his efforts to comfort the child. He sat down next to Will and lifted him into his lap, the boy’s meager struggles no match for him.

He calmed for a moment, and looked up, catching Xander’s eye.

_Oh God! His eyes. Spike’s eyes… after the Initiative had its way with him. Dead eyes. No hope left, just resignation._

Xander shuddered. He’d never wanted to admit to the nights he’d spent hours staring at the trussed up vamp, feeling brave and smug at Spike’s weakened position on the food chain. In fact, he liked poking at the creature, knowing that he couldn’t fight back – seeing the hunger and hopelessness. Thought it served him right for those decades of munching on the populace.

However, he dropped his gaze first, unable to look the boy in the eyes. Remembering just how poorly he’d treated the vampire when he came begging the Scoobies for help, made him all the more determined to be a better person this time.

“Hey there, William,” he said softly, still trying to engage the boy. “Are you hungry? I’ve got a nice chocolate bar you can have. And don’t worry about the whole ‘not taking candy from strangers’ thing...”

He fished around in his jacket pocket, trying not to jostle the boy too much. “Aha! There it is. ‘A Mars a day, helps you work, rest and play’,” he sing-songed. “Don’t let the silly British jingle fool ya, kiddo – it’s really a Milky Way… our kind, not theirs,” he said, unwrapping the chocolaty treat and holding it out to William.

It was ignored, of course.

“Anyway, I know your whole family. Me and… and my girl used to babysit for Dawn when she was a little older than you. She’d swear she was old enough to be alone, but Buffy insisted…”

Will sat up and pulled away just far enough to look at Xander, a questioning expression on his face.

_Okay… that made for Mr. Perky._

“Oh, I get it now… it really is you under all that kid business, isn’t it?” Xander mused, a twinge of something indefinable going through him. “Kidnapping, torture and who knows what else, but in the end, it’s all about the Buffster for you, though I don’t see how. She’s been gone since you were a baby.”

The look of devastation on the boy’s face broke Xander’s heart. Again, he couldn’t help but remember another place, another time… Spike’s total melt-down after Buffy’s swan-dive from the tower of doom.

“If wishing could make it so, Junior, I’d wish her here for you. For me, too,” he added, wistfully. “Buffy’d know what to do to get us out of this mess.”

William huddled closer to Xander’s undershirt-covered chest. If there was a demon there… if this really was Spike… it must have been his strong instinct for survival and his resilient nature that made him accept Xander’s hold. He prayed it would be enough to get him through this ordeal.

After several minutes, the boy’s breathing grew steadier and his tremors stilled; he’d fallen asleep. Eying the uneaten Mars bar, Xander took a bite, re-wrapped the remaining portion, and closed his own eye, falling into a light sleep himself.

***

What he’d seen on the monitor sickened him. Immediate steps must be taken. He would not be denied this second chance to get things right.

“Forbes,” he spat angrily into his mobile. “Change of plans. Meet me at the kennel – the demon is being moved… at once.”

“Soft… kids today are all soft. No backbone. No work ethic… no strong, moral fibre,” Roger Wyndam-Pryce muttered as he stormed towards the kennels.

The sight that greeted him hadn’t changed. His _security_ guard asleep at his post, actually offering comfort to the filthy beast. Several sharp prods from his cane through the chain links of the fence rectified the situation.

“Get up, get up, you traitor! You wretch!”

He watched as the guard moved the demon from his lap to the ground.

“Uh… sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but…”

Wyndam-Pryce pulled out his pistol, waving it in the man’s general direction.

“I might have regretted the necessity of shooting Nathaniel Chalmers. Until his grievous error of judgment – and traitorous mutiny – regarding that demon and our plans for its deployment, Nathaniel was the ideal Council member. Loyal, devoted…ideals clear and unadulterated. You, however, Mr. Harris, are merely a disappointment… and now an inconvenience… and I have no problem with removing you from the equation.”

_Bang! Bang!_

Xander howled, dropping down to his knees. Blood poured from the wounds in the fleshy part of his right thigh.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he choked out, pulling his t-shirt off to use as a bandage and wincing as the blood oozed through the thin material.

Roger turned away without answering. What happened to Harris was of no concern to him. All that mattered was making sure that neither he nor his allies would get the little demon back in their clutches. He would prove once and for all that it was nothing more than what he said – a demon – and once he’d been proven right, the Council would be begging him to take his proper position in their hierarchy once more.

“I’d suggest you remove yourself from the demon’s proximity,” he said quietly, unlocking the chain-link enclosure. “Or shall I put a more permanent end to this charade?”

“Please don’t do this. You _can’t_ do this,” Xander insisted. “I won’t let you take the boy again.”

_Bang!_

Another shot rang out, this time shattering Xander’s left knee, and William unleashed an unearthly yowl, scrambling away to the full extent allowed by the collar and chain.

“To think I’d taken you in,” Wyndam-Pryce spat as he kicked the injured man out of his way. “Your hatred of demons was well documented, Mr. Harris. I thought I’d be able to save at least one of Giles’ wayward children from his corruptive influence. His and that demon whore of a Slayer’s.”

Not wasting another moment, he removed the key from its place around his neck and unlocked the chain from William’s collar. Motioning to Forbes, he stepped out of the way to allow the guard room to heft the beast over his shoulder.

He tutted as he realized the demon was wrapped up in his erstwhile guard’s clothing. Roger shook his head in disgust. Allowing the beast to hide behind its human façade gave it the advantage. It wouldn’t garner any sympathy where they were headed.

“God damn it, you old bastard,” he heard the wounded man yelling after him. “Don’t do this!! He’s just a little kid.”

Easy enough to ignore the ravings of a madman.

When he thought of all the effort that had gone into acquiring the demon in the first place. All the testing and meticulous record keeping for naught thanks to the bleeding-hearts at the Council; letting themselves be led around by the nose with the incompetent ‘leadership’ of Rupert Giles.

No, things would hum along to his tune now.

***

Xander’s legs were on fire. Every flex of muscle in his thigh brought white hot flares of pain, nearly causing him to black out. As for his knee? His knee was worse – it felt like jelly. Napalm hot!

“Here, Brucie, Brucie!” he called, attempting to drag himself over to the fence for support. No such luck as the pain forced him to give up the endeavor. Where’s a big old Great White Shark when you need one? Just chomp off his totally useless legs and he could get himself one of those wheelie-platforms like Eddie Murphy had in _Trading Places._

He knew he should be scared of bleeding out… of dying alone in the wet fog. Death, itself, didn’t bother him. It would be a blessing to die and be done with it once and for all. But the joke was on him – Xander, the demon magnet. The idiot who sought out Lurky to try and bring Anya back to him. The fool who was now doomed to live forever… to never join his beloved in the afterlife. He had to give props to the cave demon – when you pissed him off, he made sure you knew it in no uncertain terms.

Staring straight ahead, Xander wondered if blood loss came with a side order of hallucinations. “Pretty,” he said to the fuzzy, white angel floating towards him.

Young and beautiful, she wore a long, white dress, her long hair piled high onto the top of her head.

“Oh my God! Xander, are you okay?”

He smiled, turning towards her as she entered the enclosure. “Beautiful Dawnmeister, all growed up! Usually I get Buffy head. I mean… I see Buffy in my head. And not so covered up.” 

Dawn knelt by his side, gently touching him, her long dress soaking up the blood pooling under his legs.

“Your skin is so cold, Xander. What’re you doing outside in this weather without a shirt?”

“Poor little shepherd. Tried so hard to protect the lamb, only to have him stolen away”

_Oh, shit! Drusilla_

“Dawn, get out of here,” he whispered. “Even if you’re only in my dreams, I need you to be safe.”

“Mmmm, smells delicious, he does. The pixies say he’d make a nummy treat.”

The vampiress glided into view, making her way to the kennel.

“I-I j-just remembered… he’s g-got the boy. He’s got W-William.” Xander’s body shook, the excessive blood loss and the shock taking their toll on him.

“Who?” Dawn gasped, before turning towards her captor. “You knew!” she shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Drusilla. “You kept me a prisoner because you knew where Will was, and when he’d need us. We have to find him now. To save him.”

“No worries, poppet. Good things come to those that wait – that’s what my mum used to tell me and my sisters, before someone ate them like a Christmas feast.”

With a sparkle in her eyes, she bent down close to Xander, brushing her fingers against his blue lips.

“Shhh, my dark kitten. Daddy’s coming.”


	46. The Cavalry Arrives

Roger Wyndam-Pryce cringed in wide-eyed terror as Drusilla waltzed away from him, slowly taking center stage in the three-ringed-circus their departure had become.

In their haste to escape the vampiress’ wrath, she’d managed to pull the wretched little creature from Forbes’ arms and dropped it in a heap on the muddy ground.

“There was a naughty man who’d played a wicked game,” she crooned to the security guard, who’d retreated towards the car and away from Roger and his ‘project’.

“William,” she called, toeing the inert body, but getting no response. “Oh, _my_ Willy.” Turning back to Forbes, Drusilla shook her head in displeasure. “Oh no, dearie. This won’t do at all.”

She wound her way towards the man; closer and closer – her circuit drew ever tighter. “The naughty man stood aside – at the cost of poppets’ lives. Miss Edith says neither of you shall pass. You’ve been very naughty, haven’t you, pet? Snatching little children without setting the tea-table.”

“Are you b-barking m-mad?” Forbes stammered, slowly edging away from the vampiress who’d thwarted their getaway.

Cobra-fast, Drusilla was up in Forbes’ face, clicking her long, pale fingers, once more stilling the man and focusing his attention on her.

“So they say,” she calmly agreed. “But my poor doggy has lost his bark. You’ve silenced it, but I’ll help him find it again. And once he does, he’ll cause a racket loud enough to wake the dead.”

Forbes’ eyes grew wide as he followed the snake-like movements of her fingers.

“Look at me. Be in me,” were the last words he ever heard.

Roger watched, unable to do anything from his vantage point as Drusilla worked her thrall, rendering his most trusted guard a drooling idiot.

 _Why don’t you fight, man? Defend yourself!_ This was Ernest Forbes – a man who’d faced down two Fyarl demons with nothing but a silver letter opener. A man who’d wrestled a Polgara demon and brought him down, unarmed. How could he stand there and do nothing? The seemingly frail demoness slashed at his throat with her razor-sharp nails, grinning madly as the arterial spray allowed her to gorge on his life’s blood.

As the corpse of his most trusted guard slumped to the ground, no longer of any interest to the monster who’d killed him, Roger felt himself go weak in the knees... needing to hold onto a nearby tree for support. Why didn’t he run? Just cut his losses? Why didn’t he take advantage of the distraction afforded when the little demon had been grabbed and flung to the ground? No demon was worth his very life, and yet… he found himself frozen to the spot, awaiting his turn with the executioner.

His hand wrapped around the shaft of a Watcher’s mandatory weapon – a wooden stake in his jacket pocket, but he couldn’t find the strength to free his weapon. His grip grew ever tighter, forcing the wood to splinter and dig its way into the meat of his thumb, but Roger ignored the discomfort, suddenly face to face with the bloody fangs of Forbes’ murderer.

“Another naughty boy,” she tutted, dancing around the frightened man – just as she’d done with Forbes – before tapping him twice on his nose.

Oh, how he remembered the last time he’d come up against Drusilla the mad and her spawn. He’d looked on from the sidelines, not interfering whilst she and William the Bloody ran rampant throughout the orphanage, killing and glutting themselves on helpless children. Then, it was with a detached disgust that he saw the scene play out. Now, fear coiled in his belly as the evil was focused on him, and him alone.

“Such a very naughty boy.” With a gleeful laugh, Drusilla poked, poked, poked as Roger flinched. “Ring a ring of roses, a pocket full of spears… you hurt the Princess’ knight, and now I’ll fill you full of fears.”

Determined not to go out as Forbes did, without a whimper, Roger forced himself to speak. “I won’t let you. I’ll…”

“But you’ve already done,” the vampiress sing-songed as she closed in. “Thought I’d forgotten, you did. Told me you’d get your revenge. Made all the little ghosties rest easy in their graves. Prettied up my little knight good and proper, you did. William always did look so fetching in red and purple flowers. They bloomed so nicely on his pale skin.”

“Please, no…”

Roger simply stood there, mouth agape, hand numb around a weapon he was never going to employ. He could feel the first cold tendrils of death curling around his heart, in his mind. This was not going to end well. Only one question remained… would he give the demon the terror it craved? Would he beg for mercy… for his life?

“Daddy thought to keep my sweet puppy to himself, but it’s not to be allowed. I won’t let him. This time _you_ have set him on the right path… shown him the truth of humanity… all weak and fragile like clay dollies. He was born to bash and smash, and together we’ll make such beautiful messes. Just like before.”

The epiphany hit like a freight train. “This was foreseen? You knew I would take him?”

“The cards had been dealt so long ago, and you’ve played the hand well. Vicious and cutting as any demon.”

Drusilla’s tinkling laughter was at odds with the look in her eyes – aged, knowing, and oh, so deadly.

“Do you really think the Angelbeast would have given Princess her boy back willingly? He was always the possessive one… keeping me away from my sweet Willy when he was first fledged, and now the roles are reversed,” she growled, her stormy eyes flashing amber she stared him down. “You made it so much easier.”

She snapped at him, the sound of shifting cartilage almost deafening in Roger’s ears. Moving closer still, until they were nose-to-nose, her cold breath turning his stomach, the smell of Forbes’ blood strong and coppery.

“What manner of monster are you?” he whispered.

Drusilla smiled, wriggling her fingers near his eyes. “Why, I’m the very best kind. I am the monster that lies under the beds of bad little boys, waiting to snatch them up for dessert. I punish them for not keeping their hands above the bedspread,” she hissed through her fangs. “And yes, I’m the monster that waits in the cupboard where you keep all your nasty little books… scribble, scrubble, scrabble. So many words telling you absolutely nothing in the end.”

Running her fingers along the throbbing vein in his neck, she leaned in closely and whispered in Roger’s ear. “As if you don’t know who I am. But the real question is… what kind of monster are you?”

All he could see were the tips of her fingers. The bloodstained lacquer coming ever closer. He felt himself falling, as if down a deep well. Losing himself. Losing everything but the terror of being in the dark as his mum turned off the lights and locked the cupboard door… nothing left but the company of squeaking rats.

Naughty boys were left in the dark with the monsters that hid in the shadows, just waiting to gnaw and gnash and tear… to nibble on his ears and eat out his eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, if he curled into a tight, little ball, nobody would see him.

That didn’t stop him from hearing, however.

“Time to rise and shine, my William,” the monster crooned, its voice no longer buzzing in his ears. “Mummy’s here for you, as she promised.”

Roger cracked one eye open, peering through his fingers. It was kneeling next to the demon in boy’s clothing. A quick glance in his direction, a wink of its eye, and Roger scurried back as far as he could. He didn’t care what happened, as long as it left him alone.

Horrid fascination kept his eyes glued on the strange sight of the boy – no, demon – awakening with glowing yellow eyes, just like the she-demon, and the rats in the dark.

She trailed her fingers through the muddy curls on his head. “There’s my good puppy, my Spike. Wherever is William? Mummy’s come such a long way to bring him home.”

He mewled in response, butting his head against her hand, then snuffled up her arm to the crook of her neck. She seemed to indulge the little creature at first, gently petting his head, allowing him to lean into her caress. 

Suddenly, Drusilla rose, stamping her foot with frustration. “No, no, this won’t do. Too young; too small.” She pushed him away again with her foot as he tried to crawl back to her. “Can’t bite, can’t kill…Daddy was right.”

Roger continued to cower by the tree. The monster was too loud. Yelling would only bring the rats quicker. “Shhhh,” he hissed through tightly-clenched lips. “Let the beasties sleep.”

The little creature whimpered on the ground, no longer moving.

“Shush now, sweet boy. Mummy still loves you.” Drusilla grabbed the boy’s chin, tilting his face to hers before bestowing a kiss to his forehead. Her nostrils quivered as she caught scent of something on the wind. “No time, now,” she whispered, moving away quickly. “We have to throw the little fishy back – give him time to grow. Still blind and naked… need your Daddy yet.”

With a flinch, Roger realized she’d been staring at him again; coming closer. He huddled into a tighter ball, this time refusing to look at all. “Go ‘way, go ‘way, go ‘way,” he chanted, rocking back and forth.

“Goodbye, Willy,” the monster called. “I’ll be back when the collar fits. And as for you…”

He couldn’t stop himself from responding: “Yes, mum?” Her tone of voice brooked no disobedience.

“Hide from the rats and the bats. Sharp teeth and claws are perfect for sinking into soft, pink skin.”

Silence reigned. Blessed, scary silence. Roger looked around, finding himself alone, except for the other – who lay moaning in the mud.

***

It felt good to be moving again… to feel the force of the wind as his feet ate up mile-after-mile of ground between him and his boy. Once their final course had been determined, Angel kicked out the side panel of the van and hit the ground running, not bothering to look back, knowing instinctively that Connor was behind him – that he’d have no trouble tracking him even at full vampiric speed.

As the estate loomed larger before him, panic filled his un-beating heart. Angel could smell the blood on the air – Will’s blood – faint traces, but definitely recognizable. Overpowering the scent of familial blood was that of another, but he couldn’t be bothered. The vampire hoped that Will had given his captors hell.

Angel took care to clear the fence that demarcated the property line in a single bound: security measures dictated it would be electrified. With satisfaction, he heard the dull thud that announced Connor’s arrival as he landed nearby.

There was a clearing straight ahead where the blood scent thickened, leading to a shabby wooden building surrounded by chain-link fencing. A kennel that had seen better days. Angel’s senses were in overdrive as he reached the enclosure. The smell of night-blooming jasmine mingled with moist earth that could only signify… Drusilla! 

What the hell was his errant childe doing here? And… and… it took a moment for his eyes to make sense of the images before him. A dirty, bedraggled… Dawn? And… could that be Harris? Sure enough, the eye patch confirmed what he was unwilling to believe.

“What the hell is going on here,” he growled, pulling down the section of chain-link nearest to him. He loomed over the downed man, dressed only in a wifebeater and blue uniform pants. His nostrils flared before fisting the thin material and hauling him into the air. “Where is my son, and why are you covered in his scent?”

“Deadboy,” he croaked, the pain from his shattered legs being jostled excruciating. “H-he took W-will.”

Though he could smell the blood oozing from the man’s wounds, Angel was too far gone to care about Harris’ discomfort.

Dawn gasped as Xander dangled from the enraged vampire’s grip. “Angel… please! You’re hurting him – he’s been shot.”

Xander spat out a gobbet of blood before continuing. “He took Will… cars. To the cars. Gonna take a runner…” he managed with his last breath before losing consciousness.

Angel dropped the useless man in a heap at Dawn’s feet.

“Oh my god, Dawn!” Connor finally broke his stasis, approaching her with trepidation. Disbelief shone in his eyes – afraid if he blinked, she would vanish.

Angel couldn’t bear looking at them. Wishing nothing but happiness for his eldest, he knew they’d have to hurry… he’d have to leave his girl until after their youngling was safe in their arms. But where to start?

Cars! Harris said something about cars. Angel scented the air again, trying to figure out which way Will had been taken. Sure enough, the combination of the boy’s fear and Drusilla’s perfume gave them a starting point.

“Dawn,” he rasped, apologetically. Angel couldn’t spare another word, emotion nearly choking him.

“Xander said they were headed to the garage… somewhere over that hill,” she said, pointing over his shoulder. “Hurry, Angel… please! That madman’s taking Will away, and we’ll never be able to find him. And Drusilla… if she catches up with them, she’ll stop them, even if she has to kill Will to do so.”

Angel shuddered – the insane bitch just _might_ turn him. Wouldn’t be the first child she’d done it to, after all. Furious beyond measure, he spat: “She wouldn’t dare…” with all the force of Angelus behind him.

For the first time that he could remember, he felt whole – man and demon united in their desires and goals – time to protect family, even from other family. The demon’s love for the boy was obsessive; all-consuming… exactly like a father’s.

A quick look to Connor and he headed off over the rise.

“Please don’t leave, Dawn,” he begged, even as he hastened after his father. “I need to explain…”

 

She could tell from the agonized expression on his face that Connor was torn between staying with her and going off after Will. And she did want him to stay – to look into his beautiful blue eyes and forgive him for all past offences, but Dawn’s feelings weren’t top priority.

I’ll wait here,” Dawn promised. “Go now, talk later.”

***

She watched until he, too, vanished over the hill.

Dawn allowed her aching heart its moment. Seeing Connor for the first time in five years almost had her down on her knees and apologizing, no matter that _he_ had betrayed her trust along with everyone else; hiding Will’s real background. It didn’t seem so important now, did it? Not in the presence of the man she’d never stopped loving with all her body and soul.

And finding out from Drusilla that the boy had been kidnapped and tortured by the Council… it was almost too much to bear. This had to be why Giles stopped paying her; stopped talking to her. Or maybe he had nothing to do with it whatsoever.

She closed her eyes and prayed that was true. She couldn’t help but remember the time when Giles had been willing to sacrifice her own life. _That_ particular story had been told to her ages ago, by…

Xander coughed once, twice; blood dribbling down his chin as he whimpered her name, bringing her attention back to their situation.

Dawn finally broke down and cried, silently, tears of frustration and loss pouring down her face. No medications to ease her old friend’s pain… she shivered with the realization that she was just as cold as Xander and there weren’t any blankets around to keep either of them from going into shock.

 _Think, think, you dope!_ The beleaguered young woman chastised herself, sure there was something she could be doing if only she could think. _How do you keep warm without anything to keep you warm? There was always sex, but… eww, and no on so many different levels. Oh. Oh! Body heat…_

It was all she had to offer until the cavalry arrived.

She had to pull herself together. Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes and took a few cleansing breaths. She gathered Xander to her body, hugging as much of his torso to her as she could. She briskly chafed his bare arms and whispered mindless words of comfort; all the while wondering what the hell Xander was doing here – obviously working for the man who’d stolen Will away.

Dawn sighed heavily, staring off into the distance, hoping to see Will come back over the hill with his father and brother.

Wishing to have her man back.

No matter what.

“Will,” Xander murmured, struggling to rise from her embrace. “Gotta help him.”

“Shhh, Xan. Hold still. Angel’s gone to bring him back. Don’t…”

The sound of sirens stopped her mid-sentence. Within moments they were surrounded by strangers. And Giles – a very worried Rupert Giles – hurrying to their side as quickly as he could maneuver. _With a cane?_

Oh! And Willow. She’d know that red hair anywhere. The witch had bound the cops together with some sort of green energy ring.

“Mac! Over here,” Giles shouted, motioning to some guy in white.

Dawn’s tears started anew and in earnest at the realization that they were no longer alone. They were surrounded by people there to help. Not only long-lost friends, but a doctor, too. Maybe… maybe things would be okay after all.

***

For a brief moment, Angel allowed himself to revel in the hunt of human prey; Angelus crowing in accordance. Fangs itched with the promise of sinking into a warm neck; the crunch as they broke through skin – like the first crisp bite of a fresh apple, unerringly finding their way into the pulsing artery and draining the miserable bastard’s life as surely as he’d stolen his heart – his Will. 

A memory came to him in a flash – the last time he was in pursuit of family with bloody vengeance on his mind; a fledgling Spike and Drusilla in his wake. Old Bat-face had ‘lent’ Darla out to a clan of V’glorsch demons for a month in exchange for the location of an active Hellmouth.

What burnt was not Darla being whored out. Hell, that’s what she was at heart, after all. It had been revenge, pure and simple. The Master putting Angelus in his proper place for his rebelliousness and wayward thinking by taking his Sire and woman from his grasp. All it did was reinforce his hatred for his Grandsire.

And now, with Darla dead some four times by his count, Dru making with the mystery appearance, and Spike being… Will being jerked around out of his grasp, Angel was grateful to have Connor at his back.

They could do this – together.

Dru’s scent grew stronger as they crested the next hill, coming upon the detached garage. Angel motioned for Connor to go to his left, but he’d anticipated the move and already broken off.

Angel quickly assessed the scene: Drusilla was gone; they’d just missed her. Someone crumpled on the ground near the abandoned car, obviously Dru’s doing.

Dead, Connor signaled.

Both started for the small figure lying still between them – William – when a scrabbling noise grabbed Angel’s attention. Knowing his little one would be in good hands, he hared off after his prey, cornering Roger Wyndam-Pryce against a low stone wall.

“Monster,” he hissed, grabbing fistfuls of the man’s shirt and shaking him.

“Yes, yes,” the old man mumbled, looking up at the vampire with wide blue eyes. “Bad lady… yellow eyes.”

_Ah, Dru. Can see your work here._

A toss of his head; the crunch of cartilage, and Angelus’ furious visage faced down the man responsible for the past half-year of hell.

The old man clutched his chest and screamed: “Rats, rats. Please… not the rats.”

“Do I look like a rat, you bastard?” Angel snarled, spittle spraying the cowering man.

“Oh, please, Father. Not the rats. I’ll be good,” Wyndam-Pryce begged, but to no avail. Angel turned a deaf ear to his distress, only smelling his son’s terror and pain.

Angel felt his prey’s breath falter, and his heartbeat stutter.

 _No… NO!_ Angel grabbed the man around his torso, pulling him up tight against his chest.  
He wasn’t about to be cheated out of taking the life of the man who’d taken his son… his boy…

“P-please, F-f-father, I’ll b-be g-g-good,” the old man stuttered as his eyes rolled back into his head… and then the bastard was gone.

The vampire frantically wracked his brain for ways to bring the man back around – to make him live long enough to suffer twice-over for every pain he put Will through. CPR! No, damn it. He didn’t have any more breath to give than when Buffy had drowned all those years ago at the Master’s hands.

The corpse, already cooling, fell to the ground, as Angel turned towards his boys.

***

Connor watched his father take after an old man, then knelt down and focused on the more immediate concern of his younger brother. He was alive, thank the gods, but not alert.

“It’s me, bro. It’s Connor,” he whispered, gathering the boy in his arms. “It’s okay now, kiddo. It’ll all be okay. You’re safe. I promise.” He brushed the boy’s filthy curls from his forehead, startled when he opened his eyes – his blue eyes flecked with amber.

Will didn’t respond to the sound of his voice, or the sight of his face. He did, however, snuffle the crook of Connor’s neck and shoulder, mewling contentedly.

As he shifted the boy into a more comfortable position, he noted the sores covering his body and the fact that he was somewhat wrapped in a grown man’s shirt. He had to be seen by a doctor, immediately.

“Dad,” he called out, raising his head to search out Angel. “Over here!”

Connor watched as his father dumped the body of the old man to the ground and turned his head towards the sound of his voice, gameface to the fore.

Will growled as Angel drew closer, his head raised off Connor’s shoulder, scenting the air – recognizing… knowing…

As Angel advanced, Connor heard an answering growl emanating from his father’s chest. Not a single word was spoken as Will reached for his father, but they came through, loud and clear nevertheless: Sire. Family. Home.

***

Angel was shaken, soul and demon. He had his boy in his arms for the first time in six months, and all he felt was _childe!_ This was not the happy-go-lucky youngster he’d last seen getting ready for school. He held the form, but not the essence.

A sharp nip at his neck refocused his attention. Will yipped and growled, wriggling to get closer to Angel, who nuzzled him back and held on tightly.

“What did they do to you,” he whispered, tearing off the shirt that had been buttoned around Will’s waist. It stank of Harris. “If he laid a hand on you, boyo… if he had _anything_ to do with your suffering…”

_And they have the balls to call me a monster._

Angel roared his displeasure. Connor approached with outstretched arms as if to take the boy back.

“Dad, you’ll frighten him.”

Far from being frightened, Will relaxed, an actual trace of a smile on his lips. Eyes closed, arms loosely held around his father’s neck, the boy looked as if he’d finally found peace.

There was only one thing left to do, besides getting medical help for his boy. He might not have been able to tear Roger Wyndam-Pryce to ribbons; the bastard had gotten off easy, no matter what hell Drusilla had sent him to before he’d gotten there. There was one person left – a focal point for all of Angel’s anger and frustration… Harris.

***

_Family_

The thought was first and foremost in his mind as he loped easily alongside Angel. They’d gotten Will back, at least physically. The filthy boy sleeping in his father’s arms in no way resembled the brother he’d last seen. In fact…

Connor felt the oddest connection slip into place – he remembered… Quor’toth! He couldn’t have been more than six years old – left alone, tied to a tree in an unknown part of the forest, and being forced to escape and then track his fath... no, Holtz. Having to rely on nothing but his own senses to scent the man’s trail, marked by blood smeared on trees. Struggling to keep his footing in the deep, squishy red mud. Gagging as he fell and it clogged his mouth and nose. Crying as he finally found his way home several days later; cold, hungry and exhausted, to be greeted with Holtz’s disdain.

_“Took you long enough, boy,” he’d said, throwing a slab of crusty bread on the table. “Make sure you wash up before going to bed.”_

It wasn’t fair. Childhood was meant to be carefree and happy. He’d seen that in his brother’s eyes over and over again as the years went by. He cringed at the remembered flare of jealousy – that Will had gotten the perfect life with Angel that should have been Connor’s by birthright. And now…

Neither of them should have been put in the position of fighting for their lives. Children were meant to be cherished – not terrified. Protected – not forced to learn survival techniques.

Connor wanted nothing more than to hold his brother and tell him he understood. To tell him that he was safe now. He could tell from Angel’s possessive grip there was little chance of that happening. Not to mention that in the boy’s feral condition, he doubted his ability to make himself understood.

Hopefully, with time and love, Will would be restored to his rightful place in his family, relatively unscathed.

They approached the kennel warily as it loomed before them. Connor’s skin itched – he could feel the prickle of magic in the air that Willow must have woven around the cops not involved directly with the Council; to keep them from overreacting to anything they might see and not understand.

“Angel!”

Giles was the first to approach, leaning heavily on his cane.

Ignoring the vampire’s low growl of warning, he reached out to stroke Will’s head, but pulled away without contact when the boy whimpered and huddled closer to his father.

“My God, what did they do to him?”

Neither Connor or Angel responded to the weary man’s enquiry. Angel was completely focused on his younger son, and Connor… well, he was torn between his brother and the vision walking towards him – his Dawn.

As oddly-dressed and bedraggled as she was, to him, she glowed. Again, this wasn’t the time for words. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and gently kissed him on the cheek, Connor gathered the woman to him and sobbed in relief.

“Shhh,” she murmured, gently running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’ll be okay, Connor. I promise. We’ll all be here for Will, and we’ll talk. No more secrets?”

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“Good. Come with me to the van. The doc has fresh water and juice there, and I just can’t get enough sweet orangy goodness.”

_How could he deny her anything?_

He looked around, noticed the doctor heading towards Angel, decided discretion was the better part of valor and took off with Dawn. His little brother was in the best of hands and he could almost relax for the first time in five years with the love of his life at his side.

***

Angel was aware of a rabbiting heartbeat approaching. He could smell the man’s fear, as well as the effort involved in not showing it. His growl rumbled from deep within his chest. No longer purely warning, his demon rose, forcing his human mask to melt away.

 _Angelus, greet the nice doctor. Rip out a lung or two in lieu of payment for ‘services’ already rendered._

Doctor MacGuire held up his hands, trying to placate the furious father-beast.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have the lad’s best interests in mind, Mr. Angel. Surely you can see he’s in need of help.”

“We take care of our own,” Angel hissed around his fangs. _What do humans know of the concept?_

“Angel,” Giles admonished softly, laying a hand on the vampire’s shoulder. “Mac’s a good man; a good doctor. All he wants to do is make sure our boy’s all right. Surely that’s what you want, as well. Let him examine Will before we determine our next course of action.”

“They hurt him, Rupert.”

“I understand, man. Mac will be as gentle as possible.”

“No, you don’t,” Angel insisted, shifting his precious burden to a more comfortable position. “They…” He found it nearly impossible to continue, his son reeking of blood and other chemicals; pain and suffering. “They _did things_ to him.”

Angel could tell when Giles got it.

The old man looked ill. “Oh good Lord, no,” he whispered, covering his mouth with his hand, as if trying to hold back the bile that rose in his throat. “Where is that bloody son of a bitch? Did you…?”

“The bastard went and died on me before I could lay a fang on him,” Angel spat. “Got away easy, if you don’t count a little side trip courtesy of Drusilla.”

Angel’s grip must have tightened, causing Will to vocalize his discomfort.

Dr. MacGuire took that moment to intervene.

“Please, Mr. Angel... it’s obvious the lad’s in distress. He needs to be checked for internal injuries, as well.”

 _growl_ Angel wouldn’t… couldn’t release his son.

This time the doctor refused to back down. He slid his arms under Will’s back and legs, literally lifting the child from his father’s arms.

Will began to struggle as soon as he’d left his father’s arms, trying to escape the doctor’s hold. The boy’s gold-flecked eyes snapped open; a snarl issuing from his throat mere moments before he sank his teeth into the surprised man’s arm.

Angel smiled for the first time in many months.

“Nurse Annetts,” MacGuire barked, making little headway due to the squirming burden in his arms, towards one of the vans. “Sophie! Bring out the tranquilizer shot for the lad. Hurry!”

A slightly harried woman came running at his request, syringe and antiseptic wipe at the ready, but backed away at the warning growl of the vampire in full gameface looming over Dr. MacGuire’s shoulder.

“The child is obviously not in his right mind, and more than likely will fight the exam.” The exasperated doctor tried to explain, standing his ground as best he could with the boy still fighting to escape his grasp. “We don’t want to hurt him anymore than what’s already been done. All this will do is let him rest while…”

“Just do it,” Angel snarled, shaking off his demon and backing away. “If _you_ hurt him…”

Will gave a small yelp as the nurse pierced his arm with the hypodermic, causing her to flinch in wary anticipation. As the boy visibly relaxed in the doctor’s arms, the small medical team brought him into the van, taking him out of Angel’s line of sight.

Angel’s legs wobbled, giving way to bone-weary exhaustion at the last glimpse of his son, sending him crashing to his knees on the muddy ground. He didn’t move as his makeshift clan gathered around: Connor and Dawn, Giles… Willow bringing up the rear; several policemen trailing after her with clipboards at the ready, finally daring to approach and take his statement.

***

From a distance she watched, standing on the rise of the hill overlooking the kennel, helpless to affect the events below:

Angel holding onto Will with a fierce desperation; falling to pieces after watching his feral, drugged son giving up the fight and being taken away for medical care;

Connor and Dawn’s long-awaited reunion; not a time for pride to war with desire. Who was right or wrong no longer mattered. They were just two teary-eyed lovers seeking comfort and relief in each other’s arms. She so wanted to join them; to wrap her arms around them and hug them until they squeaked;

An unconscious Xander being transferred by stretcher from the van to an ambulance. She was stricken with grief for everyone as Angel tore across the compound, shaking the grievously injured man to the ground, spewing venom and hatred for his yet unknown part in Will’s kidnapping;

Willow dissolving her stasis spell to allow the cops to run interference – to protect a probable suspect from the aggrieved parent. Child abuse was something they were well versed in dealing with, and they latched on with a vengeance;

Giles and Angel, the two stalwarts in her life… side-by-side, yet more alone for their proximity. Older and more frail than ever before, Giles leaned heavily on his cane, his face etched with grief. She knew she was partially responsible for at least half of those deep creases, but his current concern was obviously for William.

Buffy turned to her companion, pulling lightly at her hand to attract her attention. There but not there, touching but not feeling solid flesh beneath her fingers, a spark passed between the two shades.

“Please, your Highness. Can’t you do something? They’re in so much pain,” she gasped, tears clogging her throat. “I hear _him_ calling me. So scared…”

The God-King favored her with a look, her hair waving in the breeze like brown and blue tentacles.

“Your time here has passed, youngling. I have allowed you to ease the suffering of my pet to the best of your limited abilities. We must return now to replenish the energies expended on his behalf and to await his return.”

“But I can help,” Buffy whined, knowing she was grasping at straws. “I want to stay. I _need_ to… that’s why you sent me here. For Will.”

“Enough!” Illyria began to glow, the energy field reaching out to encompass them both. “We have done all that could be done. You will see them again in due time.”

She extended her hand, preparing for the transfer. Buffy’s form began to pulse with electrical sparks. Once more her normal, adult shape, Buffy had to accept that Will and company were beyond her reach for the moment.

“I’m ready,” she sighed, unhappily resigned to letting her loved ones out of her sight. “Time for this one to go home.”


	47. Let the Joyous News Be Spread

**Two Days after Will’s Rescue**

Wesley barely managed to hold himself together. The dimensional portal the God-King had swept them all through had not made for a peaceful passage. Her strength nearly depleted, she’d barely managed to see them safely home before retiring with the exhausted Slayer to the confines of the sarcophagus. It wouldn’t be long before he’d join them in the long, recuperative void.

Yet his protective urges were too strong. While he still could, he needed to make sure that everyone was all right before allowing himself to fall under Illyria’s guard.

Nina practically glowed with happiness, smiling as she stripped Will’s bed and replaced the linens, soaking up Alonna’s happy patter as the girl described the care package she’d brought for her best friend – Will’s favorite books; Asimov, Tolkien, E.B. White and a handful of DVDs … she’d obviously rented them in hopes of spending time with Will over a huge bowl of popcorn, as they used to do… before.

The lad had a yen for fantasy and history; the kind of books Wesley would have loved getting lost in _if_ his father had permitted the indulgence, as he’d termed anything not on the Watchers’ curriculum.

Father… the very word made Wesley shiver, conjuring as it did memories of a cold, distant man. A man who had relentlessly dashed all the natural joy and love from his younger self, and turned him into naught but a parrot for Council gospel. He’d been manufactured into a mini-Watcher, albeit a totally inadequate one according to the elder Wyndam-Pryce.

Wesley had watched as Drusilla had ripped away his father’s sanity; felt only a sense of relief that Roger Wyndam-Pryce would no longer be able to torment anyone, or pervert the good the rebuilt Council was capable of.

And felt just the smallest bit of dismay that Angel had been too late to kill the bastard to avenge young Will. As for he, himself, being non-corporeal and unable to lend a hand was just another disappointment in a long line of perceived and actual failures.

The sound of a creaky hinge heralded Hugh Chalmers entrance into the lad’s room, his young daughter, Bethany, in tow. Wesley’s heart went out to the younger man as conflicting emotions cycled across his face. He tried to put on a happy face for Nina’s sake. Her boy was coming home – there was no bad in that, no matter the hard road ahead.

While Hugh was obviously thrilled at Will’s imminent return, he still had to process his elder brother Nathaniel’s violent death at the hands of his erstwhile accomplice in the whole kidnapping fiasco – prying a son from his father.

A situation that cut too close to the bone for Wesley’s comfort.

***

Hugh stood to the side, not wanting to interfere with the housekeeping brigade. It had become a ritual over the past months, done once a week without fail. Now that the lad had been rescued, his room had received extra care and attention, with Nina and Alonna putting on the finishing touches as the duvet was settled in place, and Will’s beloved Paddy Bear placed in-between the pillows.

He checked his watch, and then scooped Bethany into his arms for a snuggly hug.

“Be a good little bit now, Bethy-roo, and go downstairs with Alonna. She needs your help to get the cookies all decorated and wrapped up before Will comes home.”

“’K, Daddy.” She wriggled out of his arms and grabbed Alonna’s hand, pulling her towards the door. “Can I sprinkle the sugar, ‘Lonna? I’ll be more careful this time. I promise.”

Alonna smiled. With a small wave of her free hand, she took Bethany out of the room.

With an awkward smile of his own, Hugh turned towards Nina. While he hadn’t been a Watcher for many years, he knew enough about their tactics to understand there would be issues on all sides to deal with once Will was home. He hated to burst Nina’s happy bubble, but thought it best that she be prepared.

Just as he’d gathered his resolve to speak, the phone rang.

“Hello?” Nina’s voice was anxious and tight as she gripped the handset to her ear. “Oh, Charlotte! How is Will? Where are you? When will you be home?”

She turned to Hugh with tears shining in her eyes; her happy smile of moments before now obviously forced and wavering.

“I… I think there’s something burning in the kitchen,” she stammered, handing the phone to Hugh. “Talk with your wife. I’m sure she misses you and Bethany something fierce.”

As she walked swiftly out of the room and down the stairs, Hugh could hear Charlotte’s voice coming from the direction of his hand and quickly held the receiver to his ear.

“What happened, my love?”

“Oh, Hugh… it’s so much worse than we’d expected,” she whispered. “Angel’s sitting in the back of the plane near Will, and growls if anyone dares to approach them. Will can’t… or won’t… talk to anyone. He won’t even look at his father.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the headache he’d been anticipating struck with full force.

“You didn’t say this to Nina, perchance?”

“No, of course not.”

Hugh winced at her indignant squawk, the tenor of her voice sparking little white flares behind his eyes.

“I did suggest that a large welcome home committee might not be the best for Will… that he might need some time to re-adjust….” Charlotte admitted.

“Wise indeed, my wife,” Hugh sighed, knowing that he should have tried to temper Nina’s enthusiasm. He just hadn’t had the heart. “When can we expect you home?”

“Less than a handful of hours, How’s Bethy? Does she miss me?”

“She’s been a right hellion, our girl. Makes a fuss at mealtimes, makes me read three stories every night before she’ll even close her eyes. And she sends up a little prayer every evening for ‘Mummy, and Unclangel and Unca Connor and Will’um to come home soon.’ She misses you something rotten, pet.”

Hugh’s voice cracked… it had only been a few days since his wife headed to England, and Bethany was upset. For Nina… the separation from her son was so much longer, and far more sinister. He had a feeling the lad’s return heralded much more in the way of grief and pain than the joyous reunion expected.

***

Several hours had passed since Charlotte’s phone call, and Hugh had to concede defeat; his nerves had got the better of him. Unable to handle Nina’s over-bright eyes, or her constant rearranging of anything she could get her hands on, he’d tucked himself into the confines of his car and headed out towards the small, private airstrip to bring home their missing family members.

Maybe he should stop and pick up some of Will’s favorite snacks… or perhaps some comics he’d missed since…

No, he sighed, doggedly staring at the road ahead of him. There was no way a few sweets and some paper and ink could wipe away the horrors the lad had been put through. Best to just get him home safe and sound.

Hugh shook his head, trying to clear the random worried thoughts, buzzing like flies about his head. Nathaniel… could he have been _so_ wrong about the elder brother he’d once respected nearly as much as his father? The often stern young man who’d kept his classmates in line as he fumbled through his Watcher’s courses. The same brother who’d shielded him when Father must have been terribly disappointed in his failures. Was he an insensitive git for still clinging to his memories of happier times?

And how would the demise of Nathaniel affect his parents and Lydia? He had no choice now but to make the journey back to England for his family’s sake. The Christmastime trip had been planned nearly a year in advance – to introduce the now five-year-old Bethany Rose to her grandparents and auntie. Unfortunately it wouldn’t be the merry affair Charlotte and he’d hoped for… but perhaps their daughter would bring some joy to the elder Chalmers in their time of mourning.

But what of Angel? In many ways, he’d come to look upon the vampire as a surrogate father figure; the patriarch of their little unit. They’d come such a long way from their inauspicious beginning when he’d been foisted on them all. Would Angel ever be able to look at him again without seeing betrayal thanks to his brother’s actions?

Repercussions were going to abound for a long time on all fronts.

As he waited for traffic to inch ahead, Hugh thumped his forehead on the steering wheel. He felt all his hard-earned self-esteem vanish, and felt like a failure at all aspects of life. He couldn’t protect his blood family from loss, nor his adopted family. He’d let Will slip through his very fingers at the school. If only he’d have been more clever… surely he could have out-maneuvered Nathaniel and the old man and just returned the lad home without all this drama.

If he were a better man.

A stronger man.

With a deep sigh, he realized nothing was going to be accomplished by beating himself up. There would be plenty of time to worry after he’d retrieved his wife, young Will, and the rest of their entourage.

No sooner had the tie-up cleared than his cell rang. A quick glimpse at the ID window flashed Charlotte’s name and number.

They’d arrived.

They were all at the Hyperion.

Hugh took the next exit and sped towards home.


	48. Homecoming

Bethany sat on the circular couch in the lobby and wiped the tears from her eyes. She’d been banished from the kitchen after getting underfoot one too many times. Auntie Nina and Alonna were putting sprinkles on the big Welcome Home cake for Will and she’d wanted to help. It wasn’t her fault that the chair had tipped away from the counter and the sprinkles flew all over the place.

She pouted, twisting her hands in her lap for lack of anything else to do. Uncle Gunn had brought her a new coloring book and the largest box of Crayolas she’d ever seen, but for some reason the empty outlines of fairies and butterflies didn’t hold her interest.

A couple of games of War would make sitting on the couch easier. Will had taught it to her before he went away. He was so proud when she remembered which numbers were higher and lower and slapped her cards down at the right time. She couldn’t wait to show him how much better she’d gotten.

Ben would have played with her, but he and CJ were home with Auntie Anne. Daddy had told her that Will would be too tired to play with so many little kids in the house. She’d offered to play with Uncle Gunn, but he was too busy doing grown-up stuff in Daddy’s office.

Thoroughly bored, Bethany cast a longing look towards the kitchen and hearing nothing but the busy clatter of pans and utensils, she slipped off the couch and headed up the stairs. Past the family’s floor, up another flight to the quiet room. The one with the white stone lady curled into a circle.

She looked unhappy.

Nobody knew how often Bethany would visit the sad lady. She’d never been told _not_ to go inside, and she made sure to close the door quietly behind her so as not to draw unwanted attention. She and the stone lady kept each other company, and even without words, Bethany never felt alone in that room.

Best of all, she could talk about Will without everyone making that wrinkled prune-face at her. Most grownups she knew were funny that way. They’d keep everything inside and feel terrible. Auntie Nina’s eyes would crinkle up and she’d cry and run upstairs to her room. There was a monster she and Daddy used to watch when Mummy wasn’t around... Gozilla, or some such? Sometimes Uncle Angel stomped off just like him, but his teeth went real big and his eyes went all yellow. Uncle Angel was so sad since Will was gone.

Bethany was glad he’d be home tonight.

“Hello, lady.” The little girl patted one claw-like hand and sat down beside the stone lady. “All the grownups are running around like chicksens and no heads. Mummy always says that. Sounds icky to me.”

She smiled, hoping it would cheer the lady up to see a happy face.

“When Will comes back, I’m gonna show him how big I getted.” She stood and stretched to her full height, then pirouetted, preening in her pretty clothes. “And look,” she said, showing off her white tights, Mary Janes, and pink denim Oshkosh dress. “Auntie Nina made me dress up and now I can’t even go outside to the garden. She’d be so mad if I got all dirty before…”

The sharp double-blare of a car horn stopped Bethany’s monologue in its tracks. She went to the window and leaned out just the slightest bit, careful to heed her mum’s strict warnings about danger and open windows.

“Oh!” she cried, startled as the first person stepped out of a big, black car. “It’s Unca Connor! He’s back! Bye lady,” Bethany called over her shoulder as she sped out of the room. “Will’s back an’ I’m gonna go give him a hug.”

Down the stairs she flew, practically tripping over her own feet as she headed for the landing and her returning family.

“Unca Connor! Unca Connor!” she shouted, running into the man’s legs. In her enthusiasm, nearly knocking down a strange lady at his side. “Where’s Will’um?”

“Hey there, cherub. Missed you lots.” Connor knelt down, gathering Bethany into his arms and mussing up her nicely brushed hair.

Bethany shook her finger sternly at her uncle. “No, no… not the hair. Never the hair,” she said in a near-perfect imitation of her Uncle Angel.

Connor grinned. “You’ve learned well, bratling.” He twirled her around to face the woman she’d nearly knocked down. “Bethy, this pretty lady is your Aunt Dawn. She’s come home to stay with us.”

“Cool. Now where’s Will?” Bethany spared no more than a glance at her new aunt before craning her neck towards the door. “Why didn’t he come in with you?”

When her uncle didn’t answer, she turned to look at him again, and wondered why he looked like he’d swallowed sour milk.

“Listen, cherub,” Connor finally spoke, tilting Bethany’s face to look into her eyes. “Will’s still in the car. It hasn’t been easy… bad things happened and he was hurt. We’re just going to have to be really patient and let Will take his time to get comfortable being home again.”

“I can go get my Princess bandaids if he’s hurt,” Bethany offered as she wriggled out of Connor’s arms and headed towards the stairs.

“No, sweet girl. It’s not the kind of hurt you need bandaids for.” Connor stood stiffly, opening his mouth as if to speak, then shutting it again, silently. “It’s like… remember when Ben took your favorite Barbie and cut off all her hair?”

Bethany nodded, a grim expression on her face.

“And even though Uncle Gunn bought you a new one, you still felt bad about it?”

She nodded again, understanding blooming in her warm, brown eyes. “So you mean that even if Will’s home now, he’s gonna be sad about being away?”

“You’re a very smart girl, Bethany,” Aunt Dawn said, kneeling down to the little girl’s level. “Will’s been through a lot, and it won’t be easy for him to forget what’s happened. We’re going to have to let him tell us what he needs.”

“Oh!” Bethany’s face lit up. “I know what he needs. A great big hug. They always make me feel better when I’m sad. And a kiss. Both should make him feel extra better.”

Dawn hugged the little girl convulsively, then turned away to embrace a weeping Auntie Nina. Bethy turned to Connor in confusion.

“Will may not want to be hugged,” Connor offered gently.

“Why not?” Bethany couldn’t even begin to grasp the idea of not wanting a hug. Even Uncle Angel loved it when she wrapped her arms around his big neck, no matter how ‘broody a git’ he was, like her Daddy said. “Would it be okay if I asked him, first?”

Uncle Connor nodded, not even looking at her. “Sure, Bethy. That would good.”

Bethany’s attention was drawn to the sound of multiple voices. While she had been busy with Uncle Connor, others had come in. A lady with red hair, an old man with gray hair and a cane… they were all hugging Auntie Nina and crying. Uncle Connor and that Dawn lady had joined them.

_Why weren’t they happy if Will was home? And if he was home, why didn’t he come inside?_

Unable to wait any longer, Bethany silently headed towards the lobby doors. It was important not to draw attention to herself – she wasn’t allowed to go outside on her own. Her mum had warned her not to many times, but she wasn’t here right now, was she?

Bethy pushed open a door just in time to see the black car pull away. She noticed a second car pull up into its place.

“Mummy! Mummy!” The happy youngster flung herself at her mother’s legs the moment Charlotte cleared the open door. “Will’s inside, right?”

Charlotte flinched as a loud growl sounded from the car’s interior, and grabbed her daughter before she could climb onto the seat.

“Wait, Bethy,” her mum shouted, scooping the girl into her arms. “Let’s go inside and surprise daddy. Mummy wants to have a few words with him about letting you outside all on your own, too.”

“Didja bring me a puppy, Mummy?”

But Mummy was silent, and hugged her a little too tight. With a little squeak of discomfort, Bethany thought twice about hugging Will. She wouldn’t want to hurt him, even by accident. Mum and daughter hurried away from the car and back into the hotel, leaving the growling thing in the car behind.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Bethany remembered something important: “Daddy went to pick up Will at the airport… is that why he’s not here yet?”

“Of course he did. My sweet guy.” Charlotte’s smile quickly faded as her daughter’s statement hit home. “Shoot! I have to call him and tell him that everyone’s home before he drives all the way there for nothing.”

“Can I call Daddy? Please, Mum? I know all the numbers to push.”

“Sure, Bethy-roo.” Charlotte opened her handbag and handed over the small phone. Bethany wondered why her mum’s bag was so much neater than Auntie Nina’s. Mum could find anything in a flash; Auntie Nina always took forever to find whatever she was looking for. _Even if she did always have a hidden chocolate bar or a bag of cookies to give a hungry snack-monster,_ she thought with a giggle.

Being careful to push the correct numbers, the little girl held the phone to her ear, anxiously waiting for her daddy to answer.

“Hi, Daddy,” she chirped, bright and cheery, and squawked with indignation when mum grabbed the phone out of her hands. “Hey!”

“No time to play, baby. Hugh? They’re home. Everyone’s at the Hyperion. Hurry back.” She returned the phone to her handbag and gave Bethany a little jiggle on her hip. “Soon, baby. We’ll have our family back together real soon.”

“I wanna go play with ‘Lonna, Mum. We can wait for Will, together.”

Charlotte shook her head, once more adjusting Bethany’s weight in her arms. “Sorry, Bethy. I’ve missed you so much, I don’t really want to give you up right now. And Alonna’s with her daddy so let’s just wait together until Will comes inside, and your daddy comes home. And besides,” she said, brushing an errant bit of hair behind Bethany’s ear, “You haven’t told me about pre-school, yet. Have fun?”

“Uh huh. I fingerpainted! Made lots of handsprints with all the colors. They’re hugs for Will. I showed ‘em to the… Ms. Susan, an’ she said they were pretty.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it, Bethy,” Charlotte agreed. “He always did like the pictures you brought home.” There was a strange hitch in Mummy’s voice that made Bethany’s tummy feel bad.

Startled by a kiss on her cheek, she turned around to find Auntie Nina looking very worried.

“Charlotte, what’s keeping my son?” she asked, standing behind Bethany and her mother. “He’s…. he did come back, didn’t he?”

“Oh, Nina… I’m so sorry,” Charlotte murmured, hugging the now frightened woman. “Of course Will’s back. He’s in the car with Angel. But… he’s had it rough. And perhaps this discussion shouldn’t happen in front of little ears.”

Bethany rolled her eyes. Grownups really did have a funny way of dealing with things. Hiding them always made it worse. Made you worry more when they sent you out of the room. You knew it had to be awful news when they sent you out of the room.

“Please, Mummy,” she begged. “Please don’t make me go. Will’s here. You said so. I want to see him now.”

It was no use, however, and soon Bethany found herself herded into the kitchen with her coloring book and the box of crayons.

 _Stupid fairies!_ She wasn’t any more interested in coloring them now than she was earlier on the couch. She grabbed the black crayon and slashed angrily at the first page, ripping holes in it. After obliterating the outline, Bethany tore the offending page out of the book, wadded it up into a ball and tossed it across the floor.

 _They_ weren’t going to hide things from her. She wasn’t _stupid_. Silently, Bethany made her way back to the lobby, hugging the walls so she could listen in without being seen.

She nearly cried out when someone tapped her gently on the shoulder.

“Hello there, pumpkin. Who’re you trying to hide from?” Connor whispered.

“You… you… sneaky!” Bethany scowled, unhappy at having gotten caught so easily.

He gave her a look with one eyebrow raised that seemed to say: “Who, me?”

The little girl gritted her teeth, not in the mood to play games. With her hands on her hips, she turned her impatience on her uncle.

“Where is Will?” she demanded, stomping her foot in frustration. “What’s the big secret they won’t tell me? Mummy sent me out of the room like a baby and it made me mad!”

“Bethany Rose!”

 _Uh oh._ Mummy only used her real middle name when she’d done something naughty, and she certainly didn’t look pleased as she knelt down in front of her.

“What did I tell you about staying in the kitchen?”

Bethany used her best pout – the one that almost always got her what she wanted. “But I don’t wanna color. I wanna see Will.”

“But Will _doesn’t_ want to see you!” Mum hissed angrily in her ear. “He doesn’t want to see anybody.”

She gasped in shock. Her mother never spoke to her like that. _Never!_

“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” Charlotte sighed, hugging Bethany close. “I’m not angry with you. It’s no excuse, but Mummy’s very tired, and it’s been a very hard few days for everyone.” She stood up and straightened out her clothing. “Will’s just not feeling very well, and won’t be in the mood to play with anyone for a while. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you when he’s had time to settle in.”

“But I want to see him now!” Bethany stomped her foot, feeling heat creep into her cheeks.

“Bethy…” her mum warned.

“Mummy…” she shot back. 

“Don’t talk back, young lady. You know better than that.”

“I don’t care!”

“Bethany Rose Chalmers! Go to your room this instant.”

_Hmmph. Seemed Mummy could only be pushed so far._

Bethany stalked off towards the stairs, glancing back only once. When she saw her mum’s finger pointing up towards her room, her shoulders slumped. She quietly gripped the handrail and went on her way.

A half hour later, a commotion downstairs drew her out of her room, and once more she cautiously headed downstairs, stopping halfway and sitting on a carpeted step. Uncle Angel was at the door, trying to pull something inside. _Maybe it was the growling puppy from the car?_

No… not a puppy. A kid wrapped in a large, leather coat. Uncle Angel’s coat. Will? Couldn’t be. He was taller than Will, and didn’t want to come into the lobby at all. He was hurting so badly, he shook from it. Waves and waves of pain.

Bethany clutched her tummy. Feeling someone else’s pain made her sick. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. She wondered what had happened. And still, above all else… where was Will?

“Will, please. You’re home. You’re safe now.” Uncle Angel tried to be gentle. Bethany could see that even from her perch on the stairs. He finally gave up and in a very fast move, got behind the cringing boy and pushed him inside the building, slamming the door shut behind them.

Nobody in the room moved. They were as still and quiet as the stone lady upstairs, until Auntie Nina cried out: “Will!” The stranger – could it really be Will? – stumbled to the floor from the force of Uncle Angel’s efforts. The woman ran towards him, arms outstretched to grab onto the boy and help him up.

Surprisingly, the kid evaded Auntie Nina’s grasp and jumped backwards, sending another wave of cramps through Bethany’s tummy. The little girl watched as the kid inched slowly away from the grownups, not even seeing Alonna crying as Uncle Gunn held her.

Bethany barely had time to plaster herself against the wall as the kid ran up the stairs. He was in agony; mouth shut and screaming inside.

He tore past her without a single glance, and ran straight into Will’s room, slamming the door so hard it bounced open again.

She was torn as to what to do next.

The grownups downstairs all started talking and crying at once. Bethany picked up bits and pieces from everyone from her perch on the stairs:

“My god, Angel,” Auntie Nina cried. “I have to go to him. He needs his mother at a time like this.”

Uncle Angel disagreed. “He’s home, Nina, and he’s safe. Let him deal with it in his own way… at least for the moment.”

“Gonna take Alonna home, folks. Glad you brought the little dude home, but I think it might be better for us to give him some space.” Bethany heard a loud noise. Uncle Gunn must have slapped Uncle Angel on the back. “Call me if you need anything, man. Me, or Anne.”

“Me, too,” echoed Alonna. “Tell Will… tell him I missed him?”

“Of course, honey,” Auntie Nina agreed. “Tell mom I’ll call her in the morning.”

Bethany couldn’t hear more than a mumble from Uncle Connor and the Dawn-lady had a fuzzy green glow that followed her everywhere. She hadn’t seen it when she was close to her, but it was easy to spot from far away.

With the grownups all busy, Bethany decided to check out the kid in Will’s room. Not making a sound, she managed to push the door open a little wider and saw him standing in front of the mirror, staring. She finally managed a good look at him. He was taller than Will, and his hair had these funny white bits at the ends. There was also a strange white mark going through his left eyebrow… it looked like a spider. And he _felt_ funny. The tummy-upsetting pain was still there, but something else… kind of made the hairs stand up on her neck.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “And what are you doing in Will’s room?”

The kid whirled around, having heard the softly spoken words, and glared at her.

Bethany couldn’t stop from backing away – the force of the pain still coming from him was staggering. And she could have sworn she saw flecks of gold in the kid’s blue eyes.

She was frightened.

He looked away from her and sat on the bed. Head in his hands; the force of his pain so great, Bethany found herself inching towards the door to escape.

As soon as she realized what was happening, she fought against the impulse to leave. Nobody was going make her do anything she didn’t want. Not when it was this important.

When the kid kicked at the puzzle lying half completed on the floor and scattered the pieces around the room, she was moved to action.

“No!” she cried, stepping between him and Will’s toys. “You can’t break stuff up. It’s not yours. Go away, you meany.”

Books flew off the headboard shelves next, and the night table crashed to the floor.

Allowing her fury to overcome her fear, Bethany slapped the kid’s legs. Once. Twice. Before she could smack him again, he grabbed Paddy Bear off the bed and threw it at her, striking her in the face.

Bethany’s lower lip wobbled and tears sprang to her eyes. She wouldn’t let him see he’d hurt her. Wouldn’t cry in front of a stranger. She picked the bear up and ran towards the door, turning at the last minute to face her assailant.

“Downstairs, Uncle Angel called you Will,” she sniffled, trying hard to keep up a brave front. “I think he brought home the wrong kid. You’re _not_ my Will’um. You’re not!”

By the time Bethany hit the door, her tears were falling fast and furious. She felt it graze her back as it slammed shut right behind her. The sound of grownup voices grew louder, and she ran into her room to avoid having to talk to anyone right now.

Sobbing, she sat on her bed, kicking off her new shoes.

“Don’t worry, Paddy,” she cried into its worn fur. “You can sleep with me until the real Will comes back.” Not bothering to take off her clothes, she settled herself and the bear under her covers and was asleep within moments, her now silent tears soaking into her pillow.

She never heard the ragged sobs coming from William’s room as he, too, fell into a troubled sleep.


	49. Little Boy Lost

**Two Weeks after Will’s Homecoming**

“And just what do you think I can do for him?” Dr. Xn Brzz’ic inquired, studying the couple sitting uncomfortably on the couch in his office. “Why would you not take him to a _human_ doctor?

The vampire muttered a few words too softly to be heard, and received a sharp elbow in the side from his mate.

Brzz’ic shook his head, trying to wrap his brain cells around that one. When the patient and its family had been first described, he’d been disbelieving.

_A vampire and a werewolf… mated._

A most unusual combination, even amongst the multitudes of pairings he’d come across in his practice over the centuries. That they were caring for a human child was just glahrmn on the prkl’in.

If it weren’t for the many referrals the Rumpari sent his way, he wouldn’t even have let the creature into his practice. He was fond of young Hthgofd, though why he insisted on the ridiculous nickname of Whistler was beyond comprehension. Kids today… no respect for their clans.

“I… _we_ need you to find out just what those Watcher bastards did to Will.” Angel spoke through gritted teeth, shaking off his mate’s attempt to calm him down. “A half-year ago, he was a healthy, happy child. Now? He cringes in fear if I’m in the same room with him. He walks by his brother as if he didn’t exist. He won’t eat; won’t speak… his mother has to fight to get him to drink water. It’s the only thing he can keep down.”

Alarmed at her mate’s rising temper, Nina interrupted his ranting. “Hush, Angel. Dr. Brzz’ic only wants to help. That’s why he’s agreed to see Will,” she reasoned. “After all, he’s not the one responsible for any of this.”

“Watchers, you say? Why would the Council of Watchers go after one of their own kind?”

“It was a… faction. A personal vendetta,” Angel snarled. “And one that’s been dealt with… personally.” When he raised his head, Brzz’ic noted the barely restrained fury flashing amber in the vampire’s eyes.

Before he could continue the interview, Nurse T’tklina opened the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Doctor… but I think you need to see the boy. Now!”

***

William sat in the doctor’s private waiting room, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt and the waistband of his new jeans. The stiff, scratchy fabric annoyed him almost as much as the irritating hum of the harsh fluorescent lighting. Will just wanted to curl up in a dark, quiet room. Alone.

The posters on the walls were creeping him out. Muppets everywhere, with their googly eyes and furry bodies... ugh! And the patchy green shag carpeting… all he could think about was the poor Vreegal kept prisoner in the Council’s demon holding pens. If it was lucky, it would be dead by now, and at peace.

Will shuddered; the niggling feeling of being watched made its way up and down his spine. He was sure that the mirror lining most of the wall behind him was made of one-way glass, and the doctor and his parents were watching his every move. Since he’d been back, they hadn’t left him alone for two minutes.

And the nurse sitting at the desk… no doubt she’d be as ready to buckle him down to an examining table as _they_ had been, over there. If he didn’t cooperate.

And sometimes even when he did.

There was no way out of this. Will’s first visit with his old pediatrician, Dr. Somers, was a total bust. “Nothing wrong with him,” she’d said, when Mom and Dad asked why he couldn’t keep any food down. “Probably a psychological reaction to his traumatic experience. Just give him time, a multi-vitamin, and plenty of fluids.”

Hah! Fat lot she knew. Even though he was hungry – more than hungry - everything tasted _off_ somehow. Like really spoiled. Eating or drinking anything made him want to vomit. Except for water. Not that he’d told her that. In fact, Will hadn’t said anything. To anyone. Not a word since his rescue. He’d learned his lessons really well from Thing One. When he opened his mouth, people died. People he cared about.

Memories of EJ and Mr. Chalmers brought tears to his eyes, but Will refused to let them fall. Refused to show weakness of any sort.

He squirmed restlessly in his chair. Could these seats be any more uncomfortable? Shiny plastic seats in primary colors; no padding. Several cushions on the floor looked tempting, but each time he’d thought of getting up, he’d catch sight of the box on the table that Dr. Brzz’ic’d asked him to sort before going into conference with his parents.

Will stared at the box of white plastic pieces. He was supposed to fit each piece into its respective place on the box-top. What did they think he was… a baby? It looked like a bunch of pre-school Lego pieces.

Sighing in resignation, Will picked up a block and without even looking, shoved it at the first hole on the board. Surprise, surprise, it didn’t fit. With a more critical eye, he scanned both shape and board and tried placing it in a more feasible-looking slot. Again he met with no success.

Stupid ‘intelligence’ test! He’d been playing with shape sorters since he was six months old. What did they have to do with how smart he was, anyway?

He tried to fit piece after piece into their place on the board. Some came close, and he was able to seat three sides properly, but never the entire form. This had to be a joke… sure, show the stupid demon-boy that he couldn’t do anything right.

Well… he’d show them. Nobody made a fool out of William Matthew Jamison Pratt-Dowell.

Jumping to his feet, Will tried to force the block into a hole. With a crack, it skittered out from under his hands and onto the rug. A slight sting in his left palm brought Will’s attention to a small cut just underneath his thumb. Wondering what kind of punishment he’d get for breaking the doc’s toy, the boy absently sucked the drop of blood that’d beaded up on the small wound.

A flare of… _something_ flashed through Will’s system. He worried the injury with his tongue, trying to get more of that taste. When he failed, he squeezed the surrounding flesh, but again to no avail. Will grabbed at the nearest block and began to hit his fingers… anything to get _more._ His frustration built and the blows came harder, finally cracking the plastic.

The sharp pain drew his attention to his now bloodied fingers. Will licked the red drops from his wounds, then brought the cracked block down again, and again… systematically destroying the flesh on his hand.

Will was so intent on flaying skin from bone that he didn’t notice the nurse running to the door for the doctor. Didn’t hear the anguished cries of his mother as she hurried to his side. Barely noticed the strong, cool hands of his father as he was grabbed from behind; held against his father’s silent chest.

Soft grunts accompanied his flailing limbs as Will struggled ineffectually against the demon holding him. The murdering, evil demon he’d lived with all of his life until…

A burning pinch in his upper arm, a lurch of his stomach, and Will’s vision began to fade. Unable to fight either himself or his captor any longer, he slipped into unconsciousness.

***

Surreptitiously looking at the clock on the wall, Dr. Brzz’ic managed to contain his impatience to be done with this case. 

After all, veterinary cases were far from his specialty.

Thank the spirits it was his last case of the day, and his waiting room was empty. He just hoped it wouldn’t get around that he was treating mere humans. His well earned reputation in the demon community would surely suffer.

It seemed like an easy enough case. Outside of the just-mangled extremity, the beast – William – had been brought in for showing signs of listlessness, inability to utter sounds, and refusal to eat. Dr. Brzz’ic was sure all William needed was time to re-adjust to his environment. These animal-napping cases were often notoriously hard on the poor beasts.

After rolling down the paper liner, he stepped aside and allowed the souled abomination to lay the creature on the padded medical table. Dr. Brzz’ic then shooed both owners out of the examining room, ignoring their strong objections. His patient was his main concern now, not its hysterical family.

First things first. The physical injuries weren’t life-threatening and could wait; it was more important to probe into the pup’s memories while it was still unconscious. Hopefully the source of its distress would be easy to locate; humans not being complex animals.

Pale pink tentacles formed from the tips of Dr. Brzz’ic’s thumbs, flattening out at the ends into small, flat ovals. He gently placed them over William’s eyelids where the skin was thinnest; a plentiful supply of blood vessels and nerves leading directly into the brain.

The doctor focused his concentration, thinning the contact points of his tentacles until he felt the slight electrical shock of connection to another living being. Jumbled images flashed before him, nothing he could make heads or tails of. It was as he suspected. Lower beings didn’t have the intelligence for coherent thoughts. There were also vestiges of fear, pain… and of course, confusion.

Just as he was about to break the connection, Dr. Brzz’ic felt a sharp stab of bright light and hunger. Severe, debilitating hunger. Once the clarity of the feeling took hold, the images also became sharper and eminently definable.

Kidnapping, a stone fortress; tweed-suited humans; isolation, indoctrination, drugs, invasive procedures accompanied by sheer terror and stark determination. Flash after flash, each one more horrifying than the other.

Oh Holy Spirits, what wouldn’t these creatures do to each other in the name of so-called science?

Underlying the memories, Dr. Brzz’ic felt something prickling at the corner of his own consciousness, something so unexpected he nearly broke the connection to the youngling. This was no mere human… no beast. This child had a soul. A true demon soul. A half-breed!

“The boy’s not human,” he whispered aloud, causing his nurse to stop in her tracks.

“Doctor?”

“Not fully, anyway,” he continued as he gently eased his tentacles from their connection without disturbing his patient. “A half breed, but unlike any I’ve seen before.”

Well, that explained the listlessness. The child was starving! The poor thing’s ribs were far too prominent; the complexion beyond pale. And yet, it was the quietest reaction to bloodlust as he’d ever seen. An immature demon wasting away for lack of basic sustenance. The doctor snorted his amusement – imagine, living with a vampire and dying for want of blood.

At least Angelus had the sense to seek help from the demon community before it was too late. A human doctor would never have made the connection. Then again, vampires were half-breeds to begin with. Mix that with even more humanity and… as one of Brzz’ic’s patients liked to quote from that Gump movie: “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

Dr. Brzz’ic gently wiped the sweat from William’s forehead, studying his patient closely. Even in repose the child was hyper-stressed. He twitched and moaned; low keening sounds that cried out for comfort.

_Sweet spirits of Vengeance! May you lay retribution upon the evil that had worked over this boy._

Motioning to his nurse to let the parents back in, the doctor prepared to heal the child’s physical injuries.

The emotional wounds would take far longer.

***

Will came to as the sound of familiar voices filtered into his awareness.

“Why would he do something like that to himself, Angel?”

_Mom_

“Hush, now. We stopped him before he could do serious damage. He’ll heal, Nina. He’s strong.”

_Dad_

He started to struggle when the evil nurse loomed over his bed… a white cloth aimed at his face.

“Do not be afraid, child,” she said, sounding considerably less scary than he’d imagined. “I’m just going to clean the blood from your face and hand, so Dr. Brzz’ic can heal your injuries.”

How Will longed to see Mac’s friendly face. He’d grown to trust the man’s honesty over time. Always had a smile and a kind word for him when nobody else had. New people frightened him. He grew rigid with the nurse’s gentle ministrations, waiting for the pain to begin.

Dr. Brzz’ic stepped into Will’s line of vision, holding out his empty hands. “It’s all right, young William. You’re perfectly safe here,” he soothed, putting one hand on Will’s shoulder. “There are no humans here to hurt you.”

The doctor cupped Will’s hand gently between his own, ignoring the blood still dribbling from the tears in the skin.

Will’s eyes widened in fear as several tentacles slithered out from beneath the doctor’s white sleeve and crawled over his hand.

“It’s all right, youngling,” Dr. Brzz’ic repeated, the tentacles undulating and suckling at Will’s palm and fingers, making them tingle, but not unpleasantly. “Try and hold still.”

“Please help him… help my little boy,” he heard his mother sob from somewhere in the back of the room.

How could she know it was too late? Nobody could help him. He was the devil’s child, evil… lost. No wonder they took him to a demon doctor. Dr. Somers couldn’t help… he wasn’t human, after all. Mr. Chalmers tried to help him hold back the demon inside, and it cost him his life. EJ died for just being his friend.

“Of course we’ll help him, Mrs. Dowell.” The doctor’s tentacles continued their wriggling as he spoke, and Will finally relaxed into the sensation. “Of course, it would have been helpful if we’d have known the boy was a half-breed before treating him. It’s one thing to work with a mere human, but entirely different when dealing with an intelligent demon-child.”

“Demon?” Mom’s shrill voice echoed in the room. “Will is part demon?”

_Oh crap_

Will closed his eyes; humiliation complete. Even though his mom was a werewolf, it was only for three days a month. The rest of the time she was totally human.

Not like him, or Dad.

Tainted.

Forever.

“It is done, William,” Dr. Brzz’ic proclaimed, holding Will’s hand in front of his face. “Good as new. Everyone please follow along to my office.”

Will hadn’t noticed the nurse easing him to a sitting position. Managing to push himself off the table, he couldn’t help but flinch when his dad wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulders and his mom flanked him as they walked behind the doctor.

***

Dr. Brzz’ic observed how uncomfortable the child was in the presence of his adoptive father as they attempted to settle onto his couch. Any other child presenting Will’s reactions would be suspected of being parentally abused. After seeing the memories of what the boy had been through, however, his first objective would be to get him past his near-phobic fear of demons.

If it were up to him, he’d tell the parents to immerse themselves in a demon dimension for a year or so – total immersion-style therapy – Arashm’har would do nicely. At least there Will might find peace – not a human being to be found. Brainwashed, that’s what he was… and nearly destroyed.

“There are several issues to be discussed, but one of the utmost importance,” the doctor began, trying to engage the boy’s gaze. “Child, I understand what you’ve been told… about your heritage… what you are.”

The boy seemed to shrink even further into the couch.

“William!”

He stopped moving, tension curling from his small frame.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Dr. Brzz’ic insisted. “Yes, you’re of mixed blood… but we don’t hold your human blood against you.”

Nina coughed, anxious to catch the doctor’s attention. “I… I don’t think that it’s the being human part that’s upsetting Will.”

“Please, Mrs. Dowell. I do understand the situation… better than you might think.” Turning once again to the boy, he continued: “You must accept and nurture _all_ of yourself, youngling. It is not what you are that makes you a monster, but what you do.”

The child looked up, meeting the doctor’s eyes for the first time.

Encouraged, Dr. Brzz’ic continued, rummaging in his desk drawer and retrieved a small silver amulet.

“During my examination, it was discovered that you are surrounded by several different forms of magick. They combine the work of mages… and an ancient touch, as well. There is yet a third thread… with a distinctly female feel…”

At Angelus’ growl, he hurried along with a further explanation.

“All of the signatures are benevolent – meant to protect…”

“Did a piss-poor job of protecting him, didn’t they?” he grumbled.

Turning his attention to the father, Brzz’ic quietly said: “And what is to say he would have survived without their influences?”

The vampire had nothing to say to refute that statement.

Dr. Brzz’ic rose from his chair and walked over to the couch, kneeling directly in front of the boy. “Do you see the pentagram engraved into the metal? It, too, has been bespelled – to enhance the protections surrounding the wearer.” Opening the chain’s clasp, he asked: “Will you allow me to put this around your neck?”

William reached out, holding the amulet with his newly-healed hand. Before giving it back, he nodded slowly, and bowed his head.

As Brzz’ic settled the chain around the boy’s neck, he warned: “This will not make you invincible, youngling. Physical fights will still result in injuries. It will, however, enhance whatever protections you already carry.”

He scribbled something on a small pad, and handed it to Nina.

“I want you to fill this downstairs, and find some way to incorporate it in the child’s diet. It’s always best served body temperature, as your mate knows, but feel free to mix it in with his food if he objects.”

Angel looked aghast. “You… you’d have him drink… it is animal, right?”

“No, absolutely not!” Dr. Brzz’ic shook his head in disagreement. “The entire demon world knows of your aversion to… your normal food source. However, would you deny your boy insulin if he were a diabetic?”

“Of course we wouldn’t,” Nina insisted. “That’s why we’re here – to do what’s right and good for our child.”

“Then it’s to be dispensed as written, and taken daily, without fail. You’ll make a follow-up appointment with Nurse T’tklina before you leave.”

As the family stood to go, Dr. Brzz’ic had an idea.

“There is a demon therapist I’d like the child to see, if he’s willing to take on the case. He’s very good with beings who feel they don’t fit in… who’ve been traumatized for being different. If there are no objections, I’ll put William’s case before him the next time he opens a portal… let’s say in a week’s time?”

Once again the sharp-elbowed werewolf struck before her mate could object.

“That’s just fine, Dr. Brzz’ic. We’ll fill the prescription and make sure Will takes his medicine as you’ve prescribed. And please, get back to us about the therapist. We want our boy back.”

With a small wave of his hand, Brzz’ic watched the threesome file out of his office. This was going to be a case for the books.


	50. It's Not Easy Being Will

**January 2015**

Once again sandwiched between his nervous mother and father, Will fidgeted on the couch in Dr. Brzz’ic’s Muppet room. He could barely bring himself to step on the shag carpeting without wanting to hurl. Though he had to admit he’d been feeling better and his appetite had improved since his last visit, it didn’t help that his mom had made him drink his protein shake before they left home. Right now it was sitting in his throat and threatening to make a reappearance.

He really didn’t want to be here. A demon doctor. A demon shrink! Will’s belly did flip-flops and he wanted to run, but his parents insisted he go through with the visit. His mom’s tears were the final straw… he never could stand to see her cry.

Most of all, he was really tired of hurting the people around him just by being himself. If only they’d stop expecting him to be happy. Not only didn’t he deserve happiness… people got hurt when he was happy.

Will missed Mr. Chalmers and Dr. MacKenzie. He didn’t have to pretend for them; they’d known he was bad; evil, and they accepted him for what he was. Even though Will had agreed to this appointment, it wouldn’t make any difference. No matter what was said, or what drugs he was given… the best shrink in the world wouldn’t be able to make him human.

“Time to go, youngling. The counselor is ready for you.”

Startled by Nurse T’tklina’s voice, and her hand on his shoulder, Will reflexively reached for the medallion he now wore constantly around his neck and rose to follow… without a look back at his parents.

***

Dr. Brzz’ic’s office was empty, but he’d been told the visit with this counselor would be a one-on-one situation. The butterflies in his stomach were threatening a mass exit when Will heard a low-level buzzing. He turned around to look for the door, and in its place was a pulsating yellow light.

_A portal!_

Will stood, frozen in place… scared. He’d read enough comic books to know a portal when he saw one.

“Come on, come on… we don’t have all day here,” an agitated voice called from somewhere inside the portal.

The light had grown unbearably bright, nearly engulfing the whole room. What else could he do but walk through the portal before it swallowed him whole?

***

“Ah, there you are, dumpling,” said a radioactive-green devil with tiny red horns and eyes; wearing a bright pink shirt and a grey pair of pants.

The boy attempted to back away, as if the sight was too much for him to handle.

“There’s no need to fear, little buckaroo,” he soothed, extending his hand in greeting. “My name’s Lorne… as in Lorne Green?”

No response.

“Ah, well before your time, I’m afraid. No worries, cupcake… what’s your name?”

Still no response.

Lorne moved to his desk, picking up a thin, manila folder. “So… William, is it? Cat got your tongue?”

Not a word, not a sound – William’s stone face refused to crack.

 _Well, if Mohammad won’t come to the mountain…_ Lorne let the folder close, and dropped his lanky frame to his knees in front of the boy.

“Look at me, son.” Peering into the boy’s eyes, the empath felt an eerie sense of déjà vu. “Do you remember me, muffin? Have we met before?”

Breaking eye contact, Will shook his head and stared at the floor.

Lorne gently raised the child’s face with a finger under his chin. The last thing he wanted to do was upset him more than he already was. _It’s true,_ he thought in awe. _The eyes really are the windows to a… familiar soul?_

“Don’t worry, William,” he said, recovering his professionalism. “We’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted during our visits. Now… couch or chair?” Lorne motioned for Will to pick a seat.

As Will settled into an overstuffed easy chair, Lorne pondered on how to approach the little guy. He could read the aching heart and soul without a warbled note, his pain was so great. And if he really was _that_ William…

Lorne wheeled his chair from behind the desk and sat down in front of the boy, patting his own knees with his large, green hands.

“For now, I can make with enough conversation for both of us, sugar lump. Eventually, though, you’re going to have to chime in. Capische?”

William nodded, hesitantly, still refusing to keep eye contact.

A headache building, Lorne pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered – not for the first time since he started counseling – why he put himself through these angst-fests. It would have been so much easier to crawl under his silk designer sheets and keep the world at bay. Any world.

The youngster looked like a Mexican jumping bean on an electric griddle, fidgeting in his seat, silently screaming _OUT! OUT! OUT!_ with the tension in his small frame apparent; looking everywhere but at him. How could he get the boy to relax enough to do any good at all?

 _Aha!_ Drawing on his memories of an old movie, Lorne motioned for the boy to stand.

“Let’s forget all this sitting around. That’s more for old folks and babies. Why don’t we play a more interactive game, William? I’ll ask you questions, you either nod or shake your head. When you feel really comfortable, take a step towards me. Can do?”

Will nodded, warily.

“Good, good,” the anagogic demon chirped, happy to see the boy able and somewhat willing to cooperate. “Let’s try some easy questions, first, okay?”

Another nod, but no movement forward.

“How old… no, wait… reverse that. Gotta remember you’re not into talkies at the moment. According to your file, you’re nearly 11 years old, right?”

Nod

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Shake

“Close friends?” Lorne entreated. “Surely such a sweet child as you would have lots of chums.”

Not only did Will shake his head vehemently, but he took several steps backwards.

Inwardly, Lorne fretted. _Poor little lambikins._ His heart ached to enfold the boy in his arms and give him a good, solid hugging, but he didn’t dare. Lorne raised his hands up into an “I surrender” pose,

William’s eyes flared amber in alarm, and without warning, he turned and bolted blindly, running through the glamour that disguised Lorne’s private portal and vanished in a flash of light.

“Ah, well,” he murmured, swiping William’s case folder from his desk and settling down for a detailed read. “This oughta be interesting.” Lorne absentmindedly reached for the phone, already absorbed in the boy’s file.

***

The man grinned ear-to-ear as the triumphant strains of Star Wars blared from his pocket, causing his gold-wire aviators to perch precariously on the end of his nose. Ringtones were still the greatest thing since certificates of authenticity and mint condition boxes, he thought, pulling the communicator-shaped phone from his vest.

“What’s up, Doc?” _That never gets old_ he snickered to himself. At almost thirty-three years old, he chose to give his Puckish side free reign. After the life he’d led… well, old hat, that.

“Heads up, muffin.” Lorne’s dulcet tones crinkled the prominent laugh lines permanently featured around the corners of his eyes now. “Looks like we have another young’un making a dash for the border.”

Sure enough, the sound of cardboard boxes crashing to the floor came from the storage room.

“Twenty bucks says he just ran into my Super Specials,” he whined, running his hand through his graying curls. “I’d just started unpacking them, but you know… customers.”

“He’s harmless, lovebug; goes by the name of William Dowell. You just need to treat this one with kid gloves. He doesn’t speak… hasn’t for weeks now.”

“Mega-trauma?” He knew he wouldn’t get an answer to his question, but couldn’t stop himself from asking. Sure enough…

“Oh for shame, for shame,” Lorne chided. “You realize I can’t give you any details; there’s that old confidentiality bugaboo. Not to mention that nobody wants a stranger’s nose in their business any more than you would.”

“Gotcha, pal-of-mine. Though that’s an awfully funny sentiment coming from a shrink,” he giggled. “No worries… his problemas are his problemas.” 

The unexpected _shushing_ of shuffling cardboard indicated his visitor was busy re-stacking the boxes he’d knocked into, and it brought a toothy grin to his face. “The kid seems awful neat for a runaway.”

Holding the phone a little closer to his mouth to avoid being overheard, he whispered: “Now, my good man, the question is how long do I have to keep the little dickens busy?”

“Oh. why don’t we say about an hour or two?” Lorne’s fingernails could be heard clicking out a meandering little tune on his desk. “It’ll give me some demon-y-demon time with Doc Brzz’ic, before he tells young Master William’s parents where they can find him.”

A few bons mots later, he ended the call, turning his attention to the young boy in question. He’d snuck into the store proper now, clearly visible behind one of the magazine racks. The blond-tipped curls were glaringly obvious between the mylar-encased editions, and if that wasn’t enough, a pair of scuffed, black sneakers toed the floor in the gap between the floor and the bottom shelf.

Whistling as conspicuously as possible to avoid scaring the kid, he walked slowly toward the bookcase, planning to unintentionally discover his ‘guest’. 

“Hmmm, I wonder what’s making that squeaking noise,” he said, sotto voce. “Hope it’s not rats gnawing on my precious first editions again.”

Unfortunately, his attempt at keeping the boy calm was for naught, as a loud crash sounded to his left. “Please don’t let it be my vintage Hellboy display,” he whimpered, panicking at the thought of depreciation due to damage. “Resin figurines aren’t nearly as indestructible as they’d like you to believe.”

A soft scuffle and a movement caught in his peripheral vision revealed the target as he tried to sneak past unnoticed between the aisles. With a swift retreat, the shopkeeper doubled back and met the kid as he headed towards the door.

“Not so fast there, Speed Racer. How about lending me a hand with the stuff you knocked down?”

When Will balked, he softened his tone. The kid looked like someone had run over his puppy.

“It’s okay, pal – no harm done,” he said, herding the boy towards the fallen display. Shaking his head, he sighed. It was Hellboy, all right. All eighteen inches of his majestic red-skinned self, sprawled inelegantly on the carpeting.

“Come to Papa, baby,” he cooed, giving the figure a quick once-over, before replacing it on its molded pedestal. “See? Good as new.” _Thank the Powers!_ Relieved that the limited edition figure appeared to be in decent condition, he turned his attention once more to the boy still standing mute at his side.

With a gentle hand, he led Will to one of the reading tables, motioning for him to sit, and pulled out a second chair for himself. 

“Would you like me to get you something to read? A favorite comic?” he asked, hoping to coax something out of the kid. After all, there wasn’t a child in the world who didn’t like comic books.

Not a word. Will sat there, eyes downcast as he fiddled absentmindedly with some kind of pendant on a chain around his neck.

Rare was the day when he couldn’t get even a smile out of a mere stripling like this one. Determined to break through, the proprietor hummed a silly little bit of nonsense, plucking several different comics from the racks with a flourish and plopping them down on the table in front of Will.

Fanning them out to show off the covers, he finally introduced himself.

“In case I didn’t mention it earlier, I’m Wells. Andrew Wells,” he intoned, reaching out to shake Will’s hand, and was greeted with naught but a blank stare. “What’s the matter, son? Doncha recognize a little James Bond when you hear it?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and continued to play with the chain and pendant; rolling it over and over between his fingers.

Andrew’d almost said “Cat got your tongue?” but decided it wouldn’t be helpful in this situation.

“Okay… now you know who I am, and you know what I do… since you’re here in my little emporium. I suppose you’ve figured out that Lorne filled me in as to who you are?”

At that, Will started. Once again, he looked ready to bolt.

“Whoa, my friend,” Andrew soothed, motioning for Will to stay seated. “All I meant was that I know your name is Will, and that you were seeing my good buddy. Whatever you said… um, I mean… whatever goes on between you two is totally confidential. Trust me, you can trust Lorne.”

Will finally settled back in his chair and shrugged again; relaxing somewhat, but not totally.

 _Back to the safe topic, then._ “So… what’s your choice? The Flash? Batman? Superman?” Each name was punctuated by pointing to the corresponding issue. “Spiderman?”

Yet another shrug. 

Andrew remembered how in awe he’d been of Peter Parker. During his own crummy childhood, he’d often searched for spiders… hoping they’d bite him and make him special, like Peter. It never happened, of course… and he took out his pain and frustration by turning to the dark side with Warren.

He wouldn’t give up, however. How could any kid not know the very basics when it came to superheroes? Shaken to his very core, Andrew was determined to correct what he determined to be a grievous error in the boy’s upbringing. Every child should know the pleasure of disappearing into a good storyline with a super-pal.

“How about we get something to eat?” he offered. That should give them something to do until Will’s folks came to pick him up.

The boy caught his lip between his teeth. He didn’t look overly enthusiastic, but Andrew decided to take that as a yes. “Pizza good for you?” he asked, pulling his cell from his pocket. “It’s okay, kiddo. I’m gonna order for myself, anyway – if you decide you’re hungry, there’ll be plenty.”

Will didn’t respond at all, just looked at the comics on the table in front of him, barely touching the mylar envelopes until he revealed the bright red figure of Hellboy on a cover.

Pizza ordered, Andrew looked over the boy’s shoulder to see which one had caught his interest.

“My man!” he exclaimed. “What good taste you have… maybe something rubbed off when you had that little tumble with the big fella before.” He removed the issue from its protective covering, and handed it to Will.

“I’ll even forgo my ‘you open it – you buy it’ policy for you.” He giggled, insisting Will take the comic. “You’ll see – it’s a great story about a boy who was born a demon, and became a hero. It’s one of my all-time favorites, too.”

He sauntered over to the counter, taking care of a few customers as the boy became absorbed in his reading. How could he not? After all, Hellboy could suck anyone into his story.


	51. Where There's a Will...

As Andrew waved to his customer and closed the register drawer, an idea occurred to him. If young Will liked that sort of tale… he could tell him about the greatest champion of all times – the one nearest and dearest to his own heart. Even now… when he’d long since distanced himself from his old life.

“You know,” he said, sitting down close to Will this time, “Hellboy always reminded me of a friend of mine; someone I actually had the honor of working with in real life.”

Pleased when the boy didn’t scuttle away, Andrew pulled out his favorite storytelling accessory – a faux-Meerschaum pipe. He always felt more distinguished holding the thing… even when his every attempt at smoking a real one led to choking and tears. He fiddled with a small container, pouring its contents into the pipe’s bowl, took a breath… and blew.

The expression on Will’s face was priceless, as bubbles foamed over the top of the pipe and dripped onto the table, narrowly missing the comic he’d been reading. Score! The icebreaker breaketh… well, the ice!

“Ya see, Will… Hellboy was born a demon, and summoned into the world to do _Evil_ , but he was rescued by a nice guy; raised to do _Good_ , instead. Turns out he liked the way it made him feel and continues to do battle on the side of right to this day.”

Andrew patted his well-padded belly; the satisfaction of turning another fan on to the fantabulousness of pen-and-ink creations warmed his soul.

“Seems I’ve got time to begin another little tale whilst we wait for our lunch, kiddo. You game?” he asked.

Will nodded, slowly, putting aside the comic.

“Once upon a time, to a little town that called itself Sunnydale, came a Vampyre of legendary evil, known to friend and foe alike by the by the chilling name of… Spike.”

The boy shuddered; his hands blindly reaching for his necklace.

“Aha! It seems you might have heard of the brave and glorious one, have you? Fear not, young padawan,” Andrew soothed, “for this story has a tragic yet heroic ending. Listen to the tale of the poet-cum-vampire turned hero…” He paused then, clasping his hands to his heart with a beatific smile.

“All for the sake of love.”

***

Nina drove like a madwoman, desperate to get to her son… and quickly. She’d insisted that Angel return home, pocketing the address from Dr. Brzz’ic before her husband could hare off and possibly behead an innocent bystander. Will’s disappearance from a place where his safety should have been assured had made the vampire too furious to reason with.

She parked the car in the lot of a shabby little storefront. Cardboard cutouts and posters of all things geeky plastered the windows, making it impossible to see inside. Nina glanced once more at the paper clutched tightly in her hand and up at the sign. It read: Sanctum Sanctorum, in large blue-red-gold letters lined in black.

_Sanctum Sanctorum_

_Dear god, let Will be safe_ , was uppermost in her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Nina pushed the door open; the tinkling of the overhead bell announcing her entrance.

 _Huh_ , she thought, her predatory senses alert; her brain working overtime to assess the lie of the land, _it’s certainly larger on the inside… and not quite as shabby._

There were several customers in the store, browsing through the rows of comics and magazines; two teenagers giggling over some well-endowed heroine; a middle-aged man comparing the merits of several sculptures – also scantily clad. Even with a quick glance of her artist’s eye, Nina knew some of those women would never be capable of standing upright, much less fighting crime.

And then she saw him.

Towards the back of the shop, at one of the low, round tables, surrounded by a morass of pizza boxes and upturned paper cups, sat William, listening attentively to a chubby little man she’d pegged as the storeowner. Not only was her boy all right, he was downright smiling!

Nina couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a smile on the child’s usually grim visage.

In-between bites of pizza, the man – who looked as childlike as his audience – gesticulated wildly, all the while making the weirdest faces.

“…and that’s how the vampire champion willingly sacrificed his life for a second time; giving his all in support of his Sire as they battled the demon hordes from Hell. Together, these mighty warriors saved all of humanity.”

Nina gasped in shock as the words reached her. This absurd little man was telling Will the story of his life before he’d been reborn. How in the world…?

“William?”

Will turned around, pushing up from his seat and headed quickly in her direction.

Forgetting everything but the fact that her boy was alive and safe, she swiftly pulled him in for a hug.

He stiffened in her arms; the smile vanished… and Nina’s motherly heart broke in two. How could he be so at ease with a stranger and still uncomfortable with her?

**ahem** The shopkeeper cleared his throat, causing Nina to turn from her son. “Mrs. Dowell, I presume?” He walked towards her, offering his hand.

Nina nodded, tentatively returning his handshake. Her momentary distraction allowed Will the opening to scoot out of her embrace.

“You must be the counselor’s friend… A-andrew?” She faltered, half-watching Will out of the corner of her eye. “Thank you for looking out for my son. I hope he wasn’t any trouble.”

“At your service, madam,” he said, sketching a deep bow. “Young Will was the perfect guest. No trouble at all. The lad and I did share a pizza… extra cheese and sausages. I hope it didn’t spoil your dinner plans.”

“You mean he ate?” Nina was shocked.

“Like he was starving!” Andrew nodded enthusiastically. “Three slices and all the cold water I could pour. For some reason, he wouldn’t touch my Mountain Dew.”

“You actually got him to eat?” Nina repeated. “My William?”

“Well, yeah… it’s not like I’m carrying stock in Williams, here,” he cracked, apparently trying to be funny. “All I did was get him interested in the tale of an old pal of mine… who’d done great deeds. Someone who’d died a hero’s death. The lad just packed it away.”

Nina raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Someone you knew?” How could this little nebbish have been involved in an apocalyptic battle between slayers and demons and come out of it unscathed? She couldn’t help giving him the once-over and laughing. Maybe he was just repeating stories he’d heard bits and pieces of.

“It’s true!” Andrew insisted, as he drew himself to his full height; puffing out his chest. “I – we – battled the forces of evil together when I lived in Sunnydale… when there was a Sunnydale.”

Thinking about it made her brain ache, and she had much more important issues to deal with than this little puffin of a man. If push came to shove, Nina could always send her husband after him. She nodded, conceding the point for the moment.

“Well, thank you again for being so kind to Will,” she said, anxious to get home. Nina was sure Angel was going batty in their absence. “Do you have a business card in case… ?” She left the question hanging, not exactly sure why she asked for the card in the first place.

“No problemo, Mrs… Dowell, right?”

“Dowell, Nina Dowell,” she confirmed, putting the card in her purse. “Now, it’s time to go home, Will. Our car’s right outside. Are you ready?”

As her son nodded in agreement and headed for the door, the shopkeeper came running towards him, waving something in his hand.

“Wait! Wait, young padawan,” he called out, thrusting a comic at Will. “Don’t forget Hellboy – he’s a present from me to you.”

Will shrank back, waving it away, but the shopkeeper took the comic and placed it in the boy’s hand, waiting until he finally accepted with a small nod.

“Good, good. Just remember what we talked about – like with Hellboy… it’s not what you are, but what you do as you make your way in the world.”

Nina shook her head. _Comic book geeks – they never change._ “Come on, Will… I’m sure dad’s a nervous wreck waiting for us to get home.” With a gentle hand on his shoulder, they started towards the door.

William turned back as the smiling man held the door for them.

“Thank you,” he whispered, getting into the car and buckling himself in as Nina started the car.

It wasn’t until they pulled into the garage some time later that Nina realized what had happened, and slammed on the brakes in shock.


	52. Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

**March 2015**

As the morning bell clanged throughout the cellblock, loud enough to wake the dead, Xander struggled to rise from his cot. Any sort of inactivity caused his leg muscles to stiffen and his knee, well… the flare of agony from the strain on the rebuilt joint was just… excruciating; a permanent, daily reminder of how low his stupidity had brought him.

Xander’s cell door swung open as it did every morning, and he fell in line with the other prisoners on his floor. He shuffled along, slowly making his way to the inmates’ cafeteria for breakfast. Every so often, the man behind him trod on the back of his foot, purposely, causing him to stumble.

As he wriggled his heel back into his trainers… and why on Earth were they called trainers, anyway? Did all British feet end up in the Olympics or something? “Let’s face it,” he thought… “Training bras served a purpose. Boobs eventually got bigger. A good training bra served its country well, and...”

His inner monologue slowed his feet, and this time he received an elbow in the ribs as Mr. Impatience passed him by with a “Wanker” snarled in his direction. Catching his balance by grabbing the counter, Xander continued without comment. He’d learned weeks ago that he wasn’t quite the darling of the guards, and more often than not, was the one disciplined for causing a fracas.

Xander grabbed a tray from the stack and removed his plastic utensils from his pocket. The last time he forgot to bring them, he had to scoop up his cornflakes with his fingers. Sliding the tray along the counter, he tried to withhold his disgust at the sight of today’s offering: porridge. He shuddered. “Never thought I’d see food of this caliber after dear old Sunnydale High,” he muttered under his breath as some sort of slop was ladled onto his plate.

It certainly wouldn’t do to show his revulsion to the inmates on serving duty. The last thing Xander needed was a wad of snot or worse added by a ‘helpful’ guy to spice things up.

With the added weight of the tray, Xander’s gait was a bit more awkward and unsure than usual. As he searched for a ‘safe’ and empty table, he could feel the target on his back getting larger with each passing moment; like a room full of Larrys, waiting for the moment the guards’ backs were turned to torment him.

At least there weren’t any vampires in prison that he knew of. However, Xander was willing to swear on a stack of bibles that the cook was at least part demon, with really skewed taste buds. Nobody human would be happy with this guy’s dishes.

Again, thanks to his wool-gathering, he miss-stepped and hit the man in front of him with his tray.

The huge bear of a man who’d quickly become the bane of his existence since his release from the prison’s infirmary. Though his voice registered somewhere between Mike Tyson and Cindy Brady in timbre, at six feet six inches tall, he cast an imposing shadow. Nobody, but nobody, laughed at his speech impediment – to his face.

“Bloody hell, watch where you’re going!” the man lisped, shoving Xander back a few steps when his porridge slopped over the edge of the bowl, flying everywhere. “Haven’t you learned your place yet?”

Xander knew he should keep his mouth shut. There was no way this was going to end well, but he was tired and hungry, and he’d thought being bullied was a thing of the past. With a sigh, he managed to find a spot to put his breakfast tray down, and then faced his assailant.

“Look, Pete,” he began, only to be cut off almost immediately.

“That’s Mr. Turner to you, git.”

“Look, _Mr._ Turner,” Xander began again, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of his life. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m…”

“Really, Harris?” Mr. Peter Turner was having none of it. Flexing his large hands, he cracked each knuckle individually, before poking Xander in the chest. “I’d say your assault on my person proves otherwise.”

A rather high-pitched hum came from Turner’s pinched lips as he walked around Xander, continuing his critique. “I mean, you hobble about the place like you haven’t a care in the world…” he sneered, eyes sparkling dangerously. “…and it would be so easy to…” The big man ran his index finger along Xander’s collar; tugging it here and there until it lay flat against his neck. “Now that you’re in here, you think you’re protected, don’t you?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Xander replied, evenly. And he wasn’t really. Not when you considered the demons and situations he’d faced in his lifetime. 

Pete Turner smiled widely, the gaps between his teeth giving him a ghastly grin. “Oh, Sunny Jim, you would be,” he said, slapping his hand against the nape of Xander’s neck. “If you had any brains at all.”

Inexorably, Xander found himself pulled closer to the other convict by the force of the hand on his back.

“People who don’t like you on the outside… those that helped put you in here? All they need is a little… influence. Amazing what the right contacts can do.”

A finger drawn quickly across his throat made Xander shiver and stumble back as Turner giggled.

“D-don’t worry about it,” Xander forced out, determined not to roll over and show his belly during a first volley. “Nobody out there cares enough about me to want me… dead.”

“Then no great loss,” Turner threw back, whistling jauntily as he waltzed away, leaving Xander standing in the middle of the cafeteria.

With Turner gone, inmates no longer ignored the aisle and pushed their way through; shoving Xander out of their way. His appetite gone, he slowly made his way out of the hall.

***

“Nothing like the color ‘Institutional Grey’ to perk up a place,” Xander mumbled as he was led down yet another corridor.

His grim-faced guard kept silent; Xander felt more like he was being accompanied to the electric chair than a visit with an old friend. And yet, it still took all his restraint not to hum the Death March from Star Wars.

At each corridor’s end sat a prison officer behind locked bars. His guard produced the appropriate electronic key along with his personal ID, ran them through the scanner, and walked them down to the next station. By the time they’d arrived at the Visitors Room, Xander felt like Maxwell Smart. All that was missing was the phone booth elevator.

The room was huge; reminding him of Sunnydale High’s Gym – cavernous and echo-y when empty - with the addition of surveillance cameras. There were groupings of four chairs; three of which were blue and one was yellow, surrounding a low, round, metal table.

“Sit here, Harris.” The guard pointed to the yellow chair, which Xander noted was bolted to the floor, as was the rest of the furniture. “Remember… both feet on the floor and hands on the table where they can be seen at all times.”

As he fidgeted in his seat, Xander pulled the wrinkled paper out of his pocket for the third time that day. No matter how many times he read it, the words remained the same: Willow needed to see him. 

Not ‘wanted’, he noted, but _needed._

His stomach gave a little lurch, and a sour taste flooded his mouth. When was the last time anyone wanted to see him?

Xander looked up as he heard the clip clop clip of a pair of woman’s heels approach. It had to be… Great Zeus, wasn’t she… beautiful. Stunningly so. He knew it had been years since he’d really seen her; those few moments after he’d been shot hardly counted, and memories were always rose-tinted with time… but she looked younger than anyone in their thirties had a right to.

“Remember, no contact,” the new guard repeated, before turning to patrol the rest of the room.

Willow stood by the table; not venturing closer. Xander could tell she was nervous – hell, _he_ was nervous. The small twist to her bottom lip as it caught between her front teeth and the way she wrung her hands were dead giveaways; just like they’d been that first day of kindergarten.

It wasn’t the time to remember those halcyon days, however. They weren’t in grade school any longer, and they’d long since passed the era of being this painfully shy with each other. After Sunnydale, there wasn’t a facet of the other that wasn’t known.

So why wouldn’t she speak?

And why did she look as if she’d rather be roasting in the pits of hell than in his company?

Ah well, he had to try… she’d made the effort to visit, after all.

“Will…”

“Xander…”

So much for sterling conversation.

Xander struggled to keep from rising up from the chair. His old friend was spurred into action, obviously thinking to wrap her arms around his waist to help steady him.

“No contact!” one of the guards shouted as he stepped forward, purposefully.

Willow gingerly tucked her skirt around her legs and sat down on one of the blue chairs.

“H-how are you, Xander?”

“Not too bad for a one-eyed, bullet-ridden con,” he quipped, trying for an airy tone but coming up short. “And how are you, Wills? Looks like you found the fountain of youth.”

Her hands fluttered bird-like around her head before pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m okay. Really. I mean, there was this run-in with an inter-dimensional portal thingie, and time differentials, and unimaginable magicks… and there was this woman, and there were pocket-dimensions and blue skies… and I guess it’s all not so important so I’ll stop before things get out of hand.”

“Whoa, Wills. Babble much?” Xander gave in to the first genuine smile he’d had in forever. This was his gal pal… maybe not as much had changed as he’d feared.

But it was back to the hand wringing and the silence.

“How’s the kid?” he blurted, anxious to fill the void, as well as needing to know. “Is he okay?”

 _That_ produced a reaction.

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?” she asked, aiming a cold, flinty look in his direction.

“How can you ask me that?” he shouted, fists hitting the table.

The guard took a few steps toward the couple. “Keep the noise down, Harris.”

“It’s… it’s just… we’re all…it’s all of the good.” Willow motioned between her and Xander. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

He curtly nodded, then continued onwards.

Xander snarled: “Do you really think that little of me, Wills? Why wouldn’t I want to know? I got shot in his defense. It would be nice to know if it was worth the blood and the pain!”

“Well, for one thing – the last time I even tried to mention William, you told me you wanted him dead. I mean, he was a baby, Xander,” she hissed, “…and you hated him. How would I know that your feelings have changed?”

“Jesus, Willow! That was years ago, and I was more than blind drunk. You know that!! The kid wasn’t even real to me. I mean… Spike being alive yet again!”

“But you were _so_ hateful!” she reiterated, unable to meet his eyes.

Xander’s heart broke a little. He couldn’t see the slightest bit of compassion in her – for him.

“I may be slow, Willow, but eventually even I figure things out. I held that boy in my arms… and Spike or not, he was suffering.”

He watched as the redhead’s fair skin grew blotchy with barely restrained emotion, and knew from experience she was trying hard not to cry.

“I do want to believe you, Xander. I do. Really,” she sniffled, pulling a tissue from her pocket to dab at her eyes. “But you were working for Roger Wyndam-Pryce.”

“I _thought_ I was working for the Council, like everyone else,” he countered, his defensiveness allowing anger to seep into his voice. “And then I find out that my immediate boss is a nutcase, in the middle of all hell breaking loose. I was supposed to be one of a handful of special security guards… in charge of transporting a dangerous demon off premises. Turns out the real demon was human…” he trailed off; anger having evaporated as he stared at his hands. “What was I supposed to do? Get myself killed so the kid had nobody who even knew where he was?”

“C’mon, Xander… everyone knew you harbored a deep and bitter resentment against Spike for his two resurrections, while…”

“You do not get to go there, Willow,” he snapped, anger resurfacing; white hot and immediate. “Talk about hating someone. You never liked Anya. Do you know what it was like for me? Always having to choose between my best friend and my girl? It made living on the Hellmouth a breeze by comparison.”

Xander derived a petty sense of satisfaction when Willow flinched, and her response pushed him to jab that little bit more.

“Why is this the first time I’ve heard from any of my… from anyone? It’s been months… and nobody’s even asked me for my side of the story.”

“You’d already admitted to being part of the kidnapping.” Willow’s face took on a mulish expression; similar to her resolve face of old, but not near as charming. “What more was there to say?”

“And it never occurred to you that I wasn’t a total bad guy?” Xander asked, incredulous. “What with the whole bleeding to death, half-naked thing going on outdoors in the middle of winter? Wasn’t that a tiny clue I wasn’t on the side of the Evil Overlord? C’mon, Willow… think!”

“D-dawn was there, Xander,” she murmured, shredding the tissue she’d been holding into fuzz. “She saw Will, naked, with a chain around his neck. She said you knew where the old man had taken him…”

“Damn it, Willow,” Xander fumed. His balled fists struck the metal table as his frustration grew. “That bastard shot me because I tried to help the kid. To protect him.”

Willow shook her head, finally turning her puppy-dog eyes in his direction. “But it really doesn’t change things, does it? You were there… working with those rats who hurt him.” 

“But I didn’t have anything to do with his kidnapping! I wasn’t there for more than a couple of weeks,” Xander insisted, vehemently. “Just long enough to get a crash training course in… and Wyndam-Pryce didn’t even take the boy until those last two days.”

“No, no! That’s not true. Angel and Nina were frantic for even a word about their son. He was gone for six months – kidnapped from school. He wasn’t at the Council on vacation!”

“It wasn’t me, Wills. I didn’t do this,” Xander repeated, finally breaking eye-contact. “I – I wouldn’t. You know me,” he pleaded. “You know me!”

Willow’s tears tracked down her cheeks, unchecked; the tip of her nose reddened to match her now-ruddy cheeks.

“Oh, Xander, this is all so confusing,” she whispered. “Everyone was so sure…”

“I swear I had no idea that the demon was anything but until the kid ran into the room and I grabbed him. And even then, I had no idea it was Sp… I mean, Will until Wyndam-Pryce started gloating.”

“Aha! I thought you said you didn’t have anything to do with his kidnapping!”

“I didn’t, damn it! I was there to take out a demon. By the time I found out it was Spike, I couldn’t back out. Two people died in front of us. A baby Slayer was shot through the heart, and the bastard’s collaborator had his brains blown out for trying to protect the kid. It was all I could do to keep him restrained; out of firing range of that madman.

“You have to know I’m ashamed. Deeply ashamed of my part in this whole mess. Worse still, I admit that I stood there… and didn’t try to stop things before they got worse. That I wasn’t stronger, or smarter, and that Will had to suffer as much as he did before he was rescued.

“But it wasn’t because I meant to hurt the kid. I just didn’t know. And I’ve been sick about it ever since. If I could change things, Willow… if I could change things I would. So please,” he begged, reaching for her hands automatically, but withdrawing them when yet another guard stepped forward. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

That was more than he’d spoken since his arrest, and it felt good. Maybe Willow wouldn’t believe him, but at least she was willing to listen. That had to count for something.

Willow sniffled, daubing at her nose with yet another tissue before looking Xander in the face. “The last time I spoke with Giles, Will wasn’t talking. And it was weeks before he would eat anything resembling a proper meal.”

Xander’s expression became bleak. Here he was, all recovering, and the poor kid was still suffering.

“Giles told me that Angel and Nina were taking him to some kind of therapist,” Willow continued, sadly. “He was fading and they were at their wits’ end.”

“Oh, yeah… that’ll help,” he snorted. “What good is a shrink gonna do if he can’t get a word out of the kid?”

Willow flinched, again, and Xander felt another little stab of guilt for her discomfort, but quickly squashed it. After all… she wasn’t so protective of his feelings, was she?

“I… I need to ask you something, Xander,” she stammered, back to wringing the life from yet another tissue. “What did you… what did they do to Will, exactly? What could have reduced him to such a state? Anything… any kind of information would be helpful.”

How on earth could he even begin to describe the hell that boy had been through? And he’d only seen the tail end of things, apparently.

“Wills, I can’t…” he shrugged, helplessly. “I just can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t? C’mon, Xander,” she wheedled, making with the puppydog eyes she’d used on him all through their younger years. “How can you withhold…?”

Xander shifted uneasily on the hard seat. “You don’t understand… you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“What did they do, Xander?”

The timbre of her voice dropped the temperature around them by about twenty degrees.

“You really didn’t come here to see me at all, did you, Willow?” he accused, sudden insight making him hostile. “You’re just sniffing around the evil kidnapper, looking for clues.”

“No! O-of course I…” She stopped, and changed tactics. “We need to know what happened to Will, Xander. We have to know in order to help him heal.”

“And what about me, damn it? What do I need to heal?”

“Xander, please…”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like for me here? Half the inmates think I’m a child molester. They think I’m the kind of monster that…” Xander swallowed thickly, pushing away thoughts of evil clowns and neglectful parents. “They don’t talk to me. And the guards… the way they look at me. I thought you were my friend, Willow. I thought…

“I mean, you tried to destroy the whole, damned world, and I stood by you. In fact, I let you take your rage out on me. I was willing to die at your hands. You tried to kill me, and still I believed in you. But you… you believe I’d willfully harm a child.”

The color rose once more in Willow’s cheeks, a basic and obvious sign of guilt.

“You know what, Wills? I’ve had enough of this. It’s one thing to have the others here look at me as if they’d stepped in something warm and disgusting. It’s quite another to see that look on you.”

“I-I’m so… Xander, we have to have that information. Will’s future depends on it,” she cried.

“Sub-basement three, level two. The code’s ‘purge’,” he snarled, refusing to look at her. “I don’t hate the kid, Willow… but I’m beginning to hate all of you.”

Xander looked over his shoulder, signaling the guard. “Ms. Rosenberg needs to leave. Now!” He closed his eyes and leant against the back of his chair; waiting for her to be led away.

The clatter of her heels fading into the distance was a relief.


	53. In-Between

**Early May – 2018**

Wispy white clouds floated overhead, dotting the bright blue sky. Will absentmindedly toed off his sneakers, placing the things he’d brought gently on the ground. Today was important.

Today was special.

Today was the day things were gonna change.

Taking a deep breath, the boy set to the tasks at hand. Enjoying the warmth of the sunshine, he spread out the large blue and green tartan blanket on the ground. When Will was sure he’d removed all the rocks and the blanket lay flat, he unpacked the contents of the wicker basket he’d brought with him.

There were turkey sandwiches, cans of Pepsi; both diet and regular, small bags of potato chips, and a Tupperware bowl of fruit salad. Oh yeah… and a container of yogurt. **ugh** How on earth anyone could enjoy eating something that tasted like sour milk was beyond him, but the girls at school seemed to like it, so…

Last, but not least, Will removed the handful of comics he’d stashed into the basket to pass the time until… yeah, until. He’d picked up the latest copies of his favorites from Andrew after his last counseling session and flopped on his belly, preparing to read. Lorne had said he was doing well enough to schedule one appointment a month and he usually made a full day of it. An hour (or slightly longer if he needed it) in Arashm’har, and the rest of the afternoon at _Sanctum Sanctorum_.

Will smiled as he thought of the chubby store owner. He’d never met another adult quite like him. Andrew would debate a point about a superhero with the intensity of a zealot, yet sit back and listen with the patience of a saint… even to an opposing viewpoint… if it was well presented.

Suddenly aware of a tickling sensation at the back of his neck, Will’s smile grew broader. He carefully schooled his face to a more neutral expression before he turned around, though. It wouldn’t do to appear too eager after all this time.

Sure enough, there she was… standing in the shade as she’d done every day for the past year; only to be turned away silently with a shake of his head. Dismissing her like that had proven to be a heady sensation – powerful – and he wondered if he’d kept it up a little too long out of spite… and to prove his own control.

Neither one said a word. Will couldn’t take his eyes off the teenaged goddess. Slightly older than him; beautiful shoulder-length hair; sun-drenched strands curling into golden waves. Soft, plump curves that made his belly feel weird and his breath hitch. Hazel eyes that flashed with…

“So, are you gonna make with the invite this time, or am I gonna have to hold my breath and turn blue before you forgive me?”

 _Oops! Keep cool, fool. Don’t screw this up._ Instead of answering, he simply tilted his head and smiled, and she joined him on the blanket. Gracefully folding her legs beneath her, she settled down next to him.

His cheeks pinkened, and Will dropped his gaze to the food spread out before them.

“Um,” he began, totally at a loss as to how to begin. Having her so close made him feel… fizzy, as if his blood ran wild through his veins; blocking all coherent thought.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this.

He decided he liked it.

When Buffy laid her hand over his, he would have sworn there were sparks. Still no closer to anything resembling speech, Will hemmed and hawed, but nothing coherent passed his lips.

“Shush, Will,” Buffy murmured as she cupped his chin, gently closing his mouth. “Look at me, please. I have something I need to say to you. I-I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.”

Will stiffened, and pulled away from her. Though her soft, misty gaze was open and honest, he felt chilled; remembering all those hours he spent alone and in pain. Calling for her. Begging for her company; all to no avail.

“I missed you,” he said, his eyes trained on a spot in the distance.

“And I missed you, too,” Buffy insisted, gently gripping his shoulder. “I was with you in every way that I could be… that I was allowed.”

“I don’t understand!” Will blinked furiously to hold his tears at bay. “You’ve always been with me. One way or another I remember you. Older, younger… ever since I was a baby. And when I needed you the most…”

“When you needed me the most, I was there,” Buffy said, blinking back a few tears of her own. “If only I…”

“But you couldn’t, right?” Will interrupted. Looking at the shadow over her shoulder, he added, defiantly: “You couldn’t because of _her_.”

A ripple of genuine fear flitted past Buffy’s eyes. “Will,” she hissed, tugging on him hard enough to spin him around. “You know we’re only here by _her_ grace. She gets pissed, we get split up again… longtime! Is that what you want for us?"

Will shrugged out of her grasp and stood up, walking back until he could see the entire familiar tall, multi-limbed statue. It was imposing, as he remembered, but there was something different. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder, as he ran towards the statue.

Buffy bolted to her feet and took off after him. “Not without me, you don’t,” she snorted. If it’s all gonna hit the fan, I’m gonna be right there with you, you stubborn kid.”

“I knew it! I knew it!” Will yelled, running up and down the length of the reflecting pool, pointing at the base of the statue. “Look at it, Buffy. Remember the crumbling marble and… and… the weeds? In the water? Look at it now!”

She followed the movement of his hand, but didn’t seem surprised.

“You knew,” he accused, his eyes flashing in the sunlight. “You knew she was getting stronger. Maybe this isn’t a good place for me to be. What does she want from me? What do _you_ want from me?”

“It’s safe here, Will. I promise… _you’re_ safe here,” Buffy stressed as she sat down heavily next to the newly pristine stone lining the pool. “What she wants… well, she made it clear it’s my calling – my duty – to guard and protect.”

“Who?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear her answer.

“You, William,” Buffy said softly, motioning for him to sit beside her once more. “You… and her.”

Will looked at her, staring into her beautiful eyes. He felt a tug in his chest and leaned forward, emboldened in that moment. He carded his fingers through her hair, allowing the silky tendrils to wrap around his hand. Something stirred deep inside – was it his demon – or just simply hormones? Whatever it was, Will was falling, fast and… hold on!

“Did you just say ‘it’s your _duty_ to _protect_ me’?” Will pulled back so quickly he still held several strands of Buffy’s hair in his hand. “Is that all I am to you? A job?” He stared her down, trying not to flinch at her agonized expression.

“Don’t give me that face, Buffy. It’s a fair question,” he pushed, getting angrier at her silence. “A guy has a right to know if he’s being played with. And let’s face it… you’re just a girl. I can take care of myself these days.”

This time it was Buffy’s turn to be indignant. “What exactly do you mean by: ‘Just a girl’, William?”

Will pouted, having heard the feminist lectures from his mom and Lottie… not to mention Alonna and any one of a half-dozen girls at school, as well. He hadn’t meant anything wrong by it. It’s just that he knew he was stronger and faster than the average guy of his build and age. The only girls who were stronger than him were Slayers, like… like… 

“You know what a Slayer is, right, Will?” She drew herself up to her full height of five foot something.

He nodded, unable to collect himself enough for words with thoughts of EJ flitting through his mind. Her laugh as they ran together, the way she’d ruffle his hair just to piss him off… her blood pooling on the floor…

The snap of Buffy’s fingers pulled him back to the present with a rush.

“Hey! Did you hear a single word I said?”

“Yeah… yes. I know about Slayers.”

“Well, then,” she said, arms akimbo and chin tilted defiantly. “what you see is _not_ what you get. There is nothing ‘just’ about this gal.”

Will walked up to Buffy, tentatively touching her arm; needing the connection. “You know I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, don’t you? I like strong girls.”

“Shyeah,” Buffy snorted. “I sorta got that.”

“Then why bring up… wait. Are you telling me that _you’re_ a Slayer?” Will’s incredulous tone didn’t seem to sit well with her, either.

“I’ll have you know that I’m the longest… well, never mind,” Buffy backpeddled. “Just know that I could beat your ass at anything and everything.” She stuck out her tongue and waggled her fingers as she pranced away from the statue, heading back in the direction of the blanket. “And I always could.”

He grinned as he took off after her. Nothing like a challenge to lift his spirits. It didn't take too long for him to catch up with Buffy, nearly bowling her over in his haste.

"Whoa there, Tiger," she laughed. "I told you I could beat your ass. Any time, any place, any task."

"Today, maybe," Will replied, picking up one of the sandwiches and offering it to her. "but I'm getting stronger every day, and my Dad is working out with me. I train a little more, and we'll be having this discussion again."

"I can hardly wait."

Buffy mumbled, looking up from her meal; absentmindedly swiped at crumbs on her face. Will found himself reaching out to wipe away the food she'd missed and gently cupped her cheek. Unable to resist, he drew closer, feeling her hand cover his.

Will kissed her before he could stop himself - a sweet, gentle press of lips; the pressure increasing until he yielded, allowing her tongue to seek his. His eyes opened wide in shock, as he realized…

…as he realized he was lying in his own bed, with Oreo licking his face. Will growled at the little black and white cat and pushed her away. He'd had her for the past two years, and this was the first time she'd ever woken him up like that.

"Damn it," he grumbled. "Just when things were getting interesting." Pulling the covers over his head, he snuggled back down in hopes of picking up where things left off.

***

"C'mon, William. Rise and shine!" Nina's cheery voice rang out in the quiet room. "Time to get ready for school."

She grabbed a corner of the blanket and gave it a yank, unwinding her recalcitrant son from its confinement. "I swear I'm going to get you the world's loudest alarm clock." She chuckled at his dazed expression. "That must have been some dream!"

 _Uh oh - some dream, indeed._ Looking down at the blanket she held was sure evidence that her Will wasn't quite the youngster anymore.

Nina excused herself and made a hasty exit, leaving her rather embarrassed son to gather his dignity before he came downstairs for breakfast.


	54. Fathers and Sons

**Early May – 2018**

Angel glanced balefully at his wife's retreating back, to no avail. Nina wasn't coming back; the sound of the door slamming rang loud in his sensitive ears as she took the easy way out and escaped for parts unknown.

Deep breathing didn't help. Neither did counting backwards from one hundred. Maybe he could turn this whole matter over to Connor, or Hugh? That would go down well, he thought with a snort. Nina would lock him out of their bedroom for a month if he shirked this task.

He paced around his son's room, hoping to calm his rapidly-fraying nerves. Angel looked down at the rug, noting the raveled edges and calculated what it would cost to replace. A mound of dirty laundry spilling out of the hamper picked at his somewhat anal sense of order, not to mention the olfactory discomfort. It was the shelves that lined the wall opposite Will's bed that caused Angel to stop his pacing. Like a film in stop-motion, the small array of framed photographs told a visual story of Will's life: A tow-headed infant in a smiling Nina's arms. A smiling toddler surrounded by friends and family, blowing out the candles on his birthday cake. First day of school, first bicycle, first disastrous cherry Jello hair dye job… Angel couldn't help but smile at that one. Will had expected his parents to flip, and all Nina wanted to do was capture the image in a portrait for posterity.

And now… the most current image - a photo of Will holding his first place medal over his head for swimming the anchor lap on his school's freestyle team. Several first place trophies stood proudly gleaming on the top shelf, thanks to Nina's relentless dusting. Seems their boy was well on his way to becoming a jock. Angel felt his chest swell with pride.

 _His_ boy.

A far cry from William Pratt the first.

From what Angel had learned of the nineteenth century version, he'd been a lost man; closed off. Painfully shy, introspective, alone in his little world of beauty and fanciful words… that little mouse of a man would never have been caught dead wearing the skin-tight swim suits worn today. Even if they did cover the body from neck to ankles.

There were also pictures of Will's friends. Not just family and extended family, like the Gunns… but school chums. Sure, the current version Will had been shy, but he'd gotten over it, and was working on whatever issues remained from… 

Angel gave silent thanks to Dr. Brzz'c for introducing Will to that demon therapist. While it still chafed that he refused to meet with Nina and himself, considering all the good he'd accomplished, Angel was willing to let it go.

For now.

He sat down on his son's bed - grateful for the fact vampires didn't usually sweat - and waited. A small smile graced his lips. Perhaps he'd done a good job after all. He and Nina. And despite all that had been thrown at Will, they raised the boy right.

Angel was so deep in thought, he'd startled at the surprisingly deep voice that cut through his reverie:

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

With a goofy look on his face, Angel stared at the boy looming over him.

"Hey, Dad!" Will repeated, tossing his jacket and book bag onto the floor as he dropped onto the bed beside his father. "What's up?"

 _Now wasn't that a fine choice of words?_ Just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile vanished, leaving Angel once more at a total loss for words.

When he was a lad, nobody had to explain what went where. After all, there were a limited number of places to put things. He found out about sex the old-fashioned, tried-and-true way. By trying. And it all worked out all right… mostly. None of the lasses ever complained about his prowess… about the only thing they never complained about. 

Anyone with half a brain could figure this out, and his Will was smart. Connor had figured it all out without help, so why shouldn't his younger brother?

But Nina was insistent, wanting Will to know more than the mechanics. Wanting him to know about emotions and feelings - and of course about condoms and responsibilities and safety.

Stupid, modern, touchy-feely world.

"Uhhhm…"

Will turned, giving Angel his full attention, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Okay, yeah. Well… I… I had a talk with Mom this morning, and… um, a-and…"

Will laughed, seeming to revel in his father's discomfort. "You're doing great so far, Dad."

"Don't be such a smart ass, kiddo." Angel gently cuffed his son's ear. "There's something we need to talk about." _Yeah, and couldn't we just put this off for say… another thirty years?_

"Sorry." Will rolled his eyes, an action that had become commonplace recently; twisting his boyish features. "But you're so easy."

"I guess that's an improvement," Angel huffed, fingers beginning to twitch out of long-forgotten habit at being baited. "Last week you said I was impossible."

Will jumped up from the bed, impatience oozing from every pore. C'mon, Dad," he whined. "Spill or chill… I've got to meet Alonna in a couple. We're gonna catch a flick."

Angel wondered how this 'little talk' had lost direction and focus before it'd even begun. He'd tried telling Nina he wouldn't be any good at this, but she hadn't listened.

"Damn it, William, I'm _trying_ to have a man-to-man discussion here. Can't you be serious for once?"

Will shrugged his shoulders and sat back down on his bed.

This time it was Angel who stood; once more pacing around the room. "Listen, son… there comes a time in every boy's life…"

The loud groan should have been expected, and it pissed Angel off, probably just as intended.

"Do you think this is easy for me, boyo? Do you know how many years it's been since I've had to even think about such things?"

"When I was a lad…" Will sing-songed.

Angel's full-chested roar shook the picture frames on the shelves. "William!"

Will sighed, falling back into his pillows. "I know, I know. You had to walk uphill through the rain and the snow in your bare feet…"

"Get out!"

Will didn't have to be told twice. In a flash, he'd grabbed his jacket and tore out of the room, clomping down the stairs and out the door for his rendezvous.

Angel prayed to all the saints he could remember that he'd never father another child in his unlifetime.

* * *

Connor sprawled out on his bed, little Liam snuggled securely in his arms, head tucked under his father's chin. The smell of clean baby wafted past his nostrils with each breath. Somewhere along the line a little talcum powder and baby shampoo had become his favorite fragrance.

Only six weeks old and Connor found it difficult to recall a time when Liam Bryant Summers Dowell wasn't in his life.

Dawn was down in the library, hoping to avoid listening in on 'The Talk", all the while trying to translate yet another scroll promising to release Buffy from her marble prison. Liam's birth hadn't slowed her down. Dawn insisted on nursing the baby, as much for his health as for their bonding time, but as soon as he was settled, she was back to being Research Woman. She said she'd been feeling 'Buffy-vibes' again, and she wanted her sister back. Liam deserved to know his Auntie Buffy.

**burp**

Connor quickly checked the cloth under his son's head, but his fingers came away dry, and he sighed with relief. He must have changed his shirt at least three times today thanks to his little man, and he was much too comfy to move.

_'…have a man-to-man discussion here. Can't you be serious for once?'_

Oh man, they were at it again. Will had become quite the expert at winding up the old man. From some of the stories he'd heard from Dawn, Will was well on his way to following in the Doc Marten'd footsteps of his predecessor… ancestor… well, of Spike.

Vampire-like hearing sucked.

With a quiet chuckle at his own stupid pun, Connor managed to stand and transfer Liam from his arms to the bassinet, then crossed the room to keep out the escalating 'discussion'. Then again, who knew how much the baby could actually hear; being the child of a Key and a descendant of two vampires. Only time would tell, he guessed.

_'Get out!'_

Ooohkay, now… _that_ was loud enough to be heard in Quor'toth.

Connor quickly glanced over at the still-sleeping form of his son and shook his head. "Never," he promised softly, stroking the peach-fuzz of Liam's cheek. "I'll never let things get to that point between us, my little one."

He thought back over the past few years… on everything that had happened since Will had been rescued from the mad Watchers. The months of silent torment. The eternity it took for the boy to look at him and believe he was alive. The nightmares that kept the entire family on edge; unable to get the sound of Will's screams out of their minds.

How could Angel have forgotten so soon? He should be grateful for… well, he should just be grateful that Will was home and well.

Dawn's hackles would be up when she heard about this. Maybe she already knew if she'd spotted Will on his mad dash out the door. From the moment she'd become pregnant, she hovered over Will like a second mother. She'd always been fond of Will, especially once she found out he'd been _her_ vampire, and not just his son; his kidnapping had sent her over the edge.

Not to mention Angel's betrayal, which had cost them all years of togetherness.

And yet, after it all… here they were, one big, happy family. Living in the same house… on the same floor, thanks to Hugh, Charlotte and Bethany moving to a larger suite on the next floor.

It wasn't that Connor expected life at the Hyperion to be all peaches and cream. How could it be, when he, himself, was the child of two vampires; when the heads of his family were a vampire and a werewolf; the love of his life was an eons-old ball of energy; his niece was a developing empath, and his younger brother was a demon/human hybrid who used to be a 120 year old vampire in a former life - not to mention a 14 year old hormone bomb in this one.

A loud chortle escaped before Connor could stifle it. A perfect Dr. Phil show. Hell, they'd send that poor old man off screaming within five minutes.

Liam stirred at the sharp bark of noise, but settled down quickly, leaving Connor to pace around the room once more.

"Not good, not good at all," he muttered, hearing Angel close the door to Will's room and shut himself in his own suite. This was gonna be a brood of epic proportions, probably followed by another shouting match when Nina came home.

Something had to be done. As Dawn would say: "Mad vibes in the house do not a happy baby make." Maybe he should talk to Angel… get him to cut Will a little more slack.

Maybe he should talk to Will… get him to cut Angel a break with the attitude.

Maybe he should just mind his own business and deal with his own little family.

And maybe, just maybe… he should go downstairs and propose to Dawn yet again.


	55. Movie Maneuvers

**Early May – 2018**

Will barely spared his Aunt Dawn a glance as he tore out of the lobby. He couldn't get away from that place fast enough. His very own mother! How _could_ she set him up for a sex talk with the King of Avoidance?

As if it weren't embarrassing enough getting caught with a morning stiffy… he'd obviously had a wet dream under the blankets she was waving around like a flag. The whole situation was just too much.

The whole sexuality thing made him uncomfortable. Ever since… Guess he had his next topic for Lorne this weekend. Will shuddered, pulling his denim jacket around his shoulders.

And this was all avoidable, if only his parents had bothered to talk with him. He'd been taking sex-ed classes in school for several years now… if he had a question, he'd have asked!

Passing the intersection of Tracy Street and Hyperion Avenue, Will scanned the line of the run-down National Cine Media ticketholders. It's not that he was cheap, but it was hard to pass up $5 tickets, especially when you were paying for…

"Hey, 'Lonna," he called out, hurrying over to her side. "Got the tickets?"

She smiled, ducking her head in the cutest way. "Uh huh," she said, holding the two pieces of cardboard in her hand. "Hope you don't mind sitting through _Frankly, My Dear_. Suri Cruise makes a gorgeous Scarlett."

Will snorted and rolled his eyes, quickly reimbursing her for the cost of both tickets. "You just have a thing for Maddox Pitt." He punched her lightly in the shoulder, taking care to pull the force. "I must really like you if I'm willing to sit through a dumb musical."

Alonna looked up at him; a crooked smile playing on her lips. "You… you like me, huh?"

"You know I do. Ever since you were a little brat in braces."

"I don't have braces anymore, you know," she said, coyly, lifting her chin and leaning closer… lips no more than centimeters from his when…

"Save it for the theater, will ya?" the guy behind them in line huffed. "And move up… I'd like to get my seat before the movie starts."

They walked quickly, following the crowd; dumping their tickets into a large receptacle. Will wondered how many times they could go through the recycling process before the pulp became unusable.

Next, a stop at the refreshment counter for a large bucket of buttered popcorn and a ginormous soda with two straws.

The lights dimmed as they settled into their seats. The theater was fairly empty, Will noted with a grimace, which didn't bode well for his entertainment quotient. He smiled, however, when Alonna nestled as closely against his side as the armrest would allow. The company was at least pleasant.

Will tried to watch the movie. Really, really tried hard not to fall asleep for Alonna's sake. He ate fistfuls of popcorn, drank at least half the soda - which probably wasn't the wisest move he'd made all day - and stuck his feet up on the armrest of the empty chair in the next row.

It was just so _lame!_

Just as his head started drifting towards the back of his seat, Will felt something warm and sharp sting his earlobe. He turned around, but didn't see a probable culprit. Nothing but several empty rows behind them. He rubbed at his ear to ease the discomfort; sinking lower into his seat. He glanced at Alonna; who hadn't moved a muscle since the first flicker of the movie. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she gazed avidly at the screen. How could she watch such… such… ugh! The actors practically swallowed each others' noses and their eyes crossed as they sang to each other.

Not that he had anything against musicals, mind… just that this one was particularly bad. _He_ could write better drivel than what was onscreen.

_Now this was too much! What was he… a chew toy?_

Will swatted at his ear again and his fingers came away moist. This time he was sure he heard a familiar giggle.

"What's the matter with you, Will?" Alonna was definitely _not_ pleased. "You're jumping around like you're sitting on a hotplate."

"Sorry, 'Lonna. It's just…"

"Just what? Will?"

He was sure she wouldn't be happy with the truth.

Sure enough, one last look behind him and there she was.

Buffy.

Pig-tailed, jeans-wearing, snickering Buffy; who nobody could see or hear except himself. The blessing and bane of his existence; who followed him around like an invisible puppy.

**flick**

Not to mention probably read his thoughts; and hadn't taken being likened to a dog real well.

Alonna grabbed him by the shoulders, and hissed; "Is it really that awful? Going to the movies with me?"

At the sight of her pretty brown eyes wet with unshed tears, Will melted. Cupping her face, he leant in and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"No, 'Lonnagirl," he murmured. "You know I love spending time with you… it's just… well, ya gotta admit this isn't exactly Oscar-worthy material."

She sniffled and did the lip-wibble thing Will had been helpless against since he was a toddler. The look on her face really reminded him of the whole braces incident. He just wanted her to feel better.

 _Moron!_ whispered coolly in his ear as _someone_ nudged him from behind, just enough to cause a lip-on-lip encounter of the good kind.

But…

Something wasn't right.

Though the kiss was certainly pleasant enough, it felt wrong.

Alonna's lips were wrong.

No, stop - reverse that - Alonna's lips were the _wrong_ lips.

They weren't Buffy lips. Lips of Buffy.

And even if she was only in his dreams, he could tell she was The One. One hell of a girl.

He and Alonna separated and looked at each other.

"Uhm, guess we won't be doing that again, will we?" she asked, finally lowering her gaze.

Will agreed.

Both settled back in their seats - hands interlaced and friendship re-affirmed - as one watched and one suffered silently through the remainder of the movie.


	56. Return to Sender

**June 2019 - Will's 15th Birthday**

"It's just not _fair!_ Will spat as he swept every swimming trophy and medal off of his shelves. "Not fair! Not fair! Not fair!"

Nina entered Will's room with a look of concern on her face. "What's not fair, honey?"

"They kicked me off the damned team!"

"Oh, Will! What happened?" She sat on the edge of the bed, out of the way of flying debris.

He slumped to the floor, anger momentarily banked.

"I've been careful, Mom. Honest, I have," he insisted. "I never swam all out at meets. I've always held back a bit, even though it killed me to do so."

Mom face. She was giving him Mom face and he couldn't take the sympathy. Dad was gonna be worse.

"It'll be all right, Will. Just tell me why they released you from the team. I thought you were their star anchor in the relay team?"

"I am… was. It seems my last lap broke some sort of long-standing record… faster than any freshman in the team's history. And they wanted to test me. Blood and urine… to prove I wasn't taking steroids or HGH."

Will shook his head. "How could I risk it? If they found anything - the demon part - they'd lock me away. I couldn't go through that again, Mom. I wouldn't survive."

Nina held out her arms and he went to her embrace for comfort. He rarely spoke about his captivity to anyone but his therapist, but his mother knew how bad it was. She had held him when the nightmares made him cry out. Dad tried, but… Will hated showing weakness in Angel's presence. It made him feel like such a disappointment as a son.

"I know it sounds like a harsh thing to bring up now," Nina said, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "But Dad and I were afraid something like this would happen. It's why we discouraged you from joining the team in the first place."

She continued before Will could interrupt. "But it gave you such pleasure, and you promised to be careful."

"I was, Mom, honest. The only times I ever won were because the rest of the competition was slow."

Nina stroked her hand through his curls. No matter how Will fidgeted, she wouldn't break contact.

"Sweetheart, it was bound to happen sooner or later. You're growing up so quickly… and your body is changing - getting stronger. Soon you won't be able to hold back. You know the coaches have been watching you more closely this year than last."

He nodded. One thing he hated about being on the team was all the attention he was garnering. Not only from coaches and instructors, but from swimming 'groupies'. While most guys his age adored the hangers on, he just felt uncomfortable. Pretty girls, and not a few boys, who only wanted to touch him and stare at him… it was a bit much. Swimming was supposed to be a non-contact sport. The only time he was at peace was the time he actually spent in the water.

"I swore I wasn't taking anything," Will insisted. "You know how I feel about taking meds of any kind. But they wouldn't take my word and wouldn't let me swim without being tested… so I had to quit. Now everyone's gonna think I'm a 'roid junkie."

Nina rose from the bed, giving Will a quick hug. "We know the truth, honey. And you know it won't come to that. That's why we took the precaution of filing a religious objection to testing of any bodily fluids."

Will nodded, sullenly, unwilling to look at his mother. "Like anyone's ever heard of Aurelians," he snorted. "The world's smallest 'religious' sect."

"But it _will_ keep you safe, if not exactly happy," Nina concluded. "I know you don't feel like celebrating right now, but we'll have a nice family birthday dinner when Dad comes home, and we'll talk this out. You know how much he cares about your interests. Maybe we can come up with something to help take the sting out of this… situation."

"Yeah, right."

"We love you, son. Always remember that," Nina said, as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Happy stinking birthday, Will," he mumbled, dropping his head into his hands before letting the first tears fall.

A softness fell across his shoulders; not fully corporeal, but eminently comforting.

"Thank god! What took you so long?"

Buffy took a swipe at his head, only managing to slightly ruffle his hair. "You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl, don't you, Sport?"

_Grrrr!_

"You so did _not_ growl at me, William Dowell," she huffed.

Will looked up at her, eyes flashing. "And what if I did? What are you gonna do about it?"

"I… I… nothing, I guess," she admitted, lowering herself to sit next to him.

"Sorry, Buffy. You know I'm not mad at you. It's just… today… of all days."

She nodded, letting her legs dangle over the side of the bed, idly kicking them back and forth like a little girl.

"Happy birthday, Will," Buffy murmured, softly brushing her lips against his tear-stained cheek.

He sighed. There really wasn't anything else to say, so he sat side-by-side with his closest friend in companionable silence until it was time for dinner.

* * *

Dawn walked into the kitchen just as the roast beef had been placed on the table.

"We were beginning to think you'd stood up your nephew on his birthday, young lady," Nina said, winking, as she moved a sippy cup into little Liam's grasping hands.

Connor laughed at his son's antics - holding his cup with one hand and dripping it over his head almost as much as drinking from it. "Good thing you didn't bet the hotel on that, Nina. No way would my Dawn forget a date as important as Will's birthday."

"Sorry I'm late," she said, nodding at Hugh, Charlotte and Bethany, who'd arrived earlier that day. "I had to stop by the post office. Seems that even the Fates have a special gift for the birthday boy…"

Will cleared his throat - loudly - and mock-glared at his aunt.

"Okay, okay," she laughed. "Birthday _man_. Anyway… I brought home a surprise, Will. The mailman said there was a package waiting at the post office. They rescued it from a rental box that'd been paid up for the last twenty years or so… until now."

"What's so special about that? It can't be for me." Will popped another forkful of the juicy roast in his mouth. "Who sent it?"

"Ah, see? _That's_ the special. It's addressed to your dad, but it's from… Spike. He sent it just before Sunnydale went boom." Dawn smirked, arms crossing over her chest. "I told the postal clerk I was Spike's sister, and after flashing my ID card with the same address as the package, they handed it over, pretty as you please!"

Angel rose, concern creasing his forehead. "I think I should take a look at that package now," he muttered."Knowing Spike…"

"Knowing Spike… what, Dad?" Will rose, as well, challenge radiating in his stance.

"Never mind, son," Nina soothed, tugging at her husband's shirt until he sat back down. "Your father doesn't mean anything by that remark." Turning towards Angel, she said: "I think it might be exciting for Will to open that package, himself. I know it's addressed to you, honey… but maybe our son will find something important - perhaps a clue as to what Spike was like back then."

"I still don't think it's a good idea, Nina. No matter that Spike had been… tamed. He was still a one hundred and twenty year old vampire who wasn't very fond of me at the time." Angel shook his head, worry marring his handsome features. "Who knows what he could have sent to me?"

"It'd be long dead after all these years," Will mumbled under his breath.

Dawn glanced from Will to his father, and back again, trying to get her thoughts straight before saying anything. "Listen, Angel. I understand your concern, but you have to remember at the time we were all a little too busy trying not to die to send horror-grams. And Spike was newly souled at the time. If you're that worried, and Will doesn't mind, I'll check it out with him. If it's stuff from Sunnydale…" she trailed off, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. "If - if it's stuff from Sunnydale, maybe I'll be able to explain it; whose it was… what it meant…"

 

Angel thought for a moment. “Bethany?” he questioned. The girl's insight seemed to be increasing almost daily. Bethany hugged her aunt. "It's okay, Aunt Dawn. I don't feel anything bad in there."

Bethany’s words swayed Angel's mind, and he reluctantly backed off. There would be no battle of ownership tonight. Will's hackles settled, and the family sat down to enjoy their dinner peaceably; all but Will putting thoughts of Sunnydale aside in favor of the delicious food waiting for them.

* * *

Will forked the last of his meal into his mouth, grunted an 'excuse me', and tore out of the kitchen. He felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. This was as close as he'd ever get to _him_ \- Spike! The real Spike, or rather the Spike _she_ had been closest too. Sort of odd to be jealous of himself… but Will's life had never been normal.

Over the past year he'd begun asking Aunt Dawn about her sister, in earnest. Things Buffy wouldn't - or couldn't - divulge. How had she dealt with being the only Slayer in the entire world? What kind of guys had she liked? What exactly was her relationship to Angel? Of course the last question was usually summarily dismissed with much hemming and hawing… and his father rapidly exiting the room if he were in the vicinity. Hell, the whole business left him unsettled, as well, but he knew he had to try and understand.

Getting to know Buffy Summers was the most important thing in the world.

But getting to see what was in the box his aunt was carrying into his room made him tingle with anticipation. Will hurried over to take it from Dawn's arms and placed the box on his bed, gently - like it contained a bomb he was afraid of setting off.

Dawn laughed, obviously amused at his antics. "Don't worry about what your father said, kiddo. Spike wouldn't have sent anything harmful…" she trailed off, and then continued with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Well, not after he got his soul back, anyway. Not even to Angel."

"How can you be so sure, Aunt Dawn?" Will whined, anxious to have positive reinforcement about his past from someone other than Andrew. "I can tell Dad's trying too hard when he talks about me… I mean, Spike-me. He doesn't want to be mean, but that face he can't help making. You know the one… "

"You mean his 'I haven't taken a crap in 250 years and you can't make me' face?" Dawn giggled and Will couldn't stop from laughing along with her.

"Oh yeah," he snickered. "That's the one. I wonder if prune juice works on vampire constitutions."

"Shyeah. As if I didn't see enough of it when he was dating Buffy way back when."

For a moment, Will's mood turned several shades of green, as it always did when reminded that Angel - his _father_ \- had dated Buffy, eons ago. He shook his head to clear away the resentment. After all, he was also jealous of Spike - _himself_ \- for also having had a relationship with the Slayer. It was irrational, being jealous of the self he once was, but wasn't anymore… or was he? And once he started down the "I'm my own grandpa" vein, Will started to question everyone and everything.

"Well?" his aunt - sister-in-law - Dawn asked, sounding blasé about the box but Will could tell… she was almost as eager as he to check out the package's contents.

The hell with worrying about how he was related to whom. One day he'd write it all down, but today he had a box to open. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, faded with age, water spotted, and tied with a frayed rope. Just a little pull and it gave way, easily. Not so much the duct tape holding the box together, so Will had to resort to scoring it with his keys. His aunt's barely voiced mantra of "c'mon, c'mon, c'mon" egged him on.

He had no idea what had been waiting all these years for him to discover. Would it be the severed demon head his father was worried about? Or worse, human remains - souvenirs of violent killing sprees from Spike's wilder days. With a deep breath, Will opened the box.

Dawn gasped, her eyes opened wide as he pulled out the first item. It was a pink stuffed pig… a well-worn stuffed pig, almost as battered as Will’s own Paddy Bear.

“Mr. Gordo!” Dawn grabbed the piggy from his hands before he could utter a word. “I can’t believe Spike saved this – it’s Buffy’s. We thought she’d lost it in the Sunnydale crash.”

A small gust of wind blew by Will’s ear and he turned, seeing Buffy at his side, clad in a white sundress with a spray of daisies in her golden tresses. She stood, hands on her hips, attitude in full measure.

“Oh my God! That sneaky thief – he stole my pig. What kind of vampire steals a girl’s pig?”

Will couldn’t suppress a small snicker at her umbrage.

Dawn paused in her mauling of Mr. Gordo. “Is Buffy here, Will?”

He nodded, his attention divided between the two Summers sisters.

“Will!” Dawn’s voice registered more sharply and he concentrated on her. 

“Yeah, it’s Buffy… she’s right next…”

Dawn turned around, vainly looking for a glimpse of her sister, but as usual, she was only visible to Will. “Would you t-tell her hello from me… and that I miss her, terribly?”

Will repeated the message to Buffy, who scoffed. “I can hear her, you know.”

Will blushed. He’d forgotten momentarily how much Buffy could interact with the world.

“She’s giving you a hard time, isn’t she?” Dawn asked, gently rubbing Will’s shoulder. “Where is she right now?”

He pointed to the foot of the bed, and then his old rocking chair, as Buffy settled into it. There was a slight creaking sound as it began to rock, seemingly on its own, slowly but surely.

“My God, Buffy,” Dawn exhaled, her words coming out soft and sad. “I miss you so much. There’s so much I want to share with you. Not the least of which is your nephew, Liam. I can’t believe I’m a mom, and my big sis isn’t here to share it with me… at least, not in the literal sense.

“She misses you, too, Aunt Dawn,” Will murmured, watching as Buffy wiped her eyes. “There’s still hope, isn’t there? That you guys or Grandpa Giles will be able to free her for good?”

“We’re still trying, hon. I promise we’ll never give up. We all want Buffy back amongst the corporeal.”

Will smiled and glanced at the woman in question as she sat up a little straighter and smiled weakly. He turned back to the box, desperate not to look at either woman at the moment, since Buffy’s freedom was his most heartfelt and least probable desire.

He tossed something onto the bed, separating small pieces of material between his fingers. They turned out to be a few pairs of women’s panties with a slightly odd smell to them. Dawn grabbed them away and stuffed them into her pocket, blushing furiously. Buffy coughed, her face flushing, as well.

Once more into the box he delved, yelping at the sting. When he brought his hand up, one of his fingers was bleeding… blood dotting a small curve on his pointer finger. He sucked the digit until the wound seemed to close. He was fifteen years old, after all, and not likely to call for his mom to kiss things and make them better.

Dawn grabbed the box quickly. “Is everything okay, Will? Do I need to find the first aid kit?”

“Stop making such a fuss, Aunt Dawn. It was just a small slice – like a paper cut. I’m fine. I wonder what bit me?”

Taking no chances, Dawn shook the box slightly, watching as the offending culprit came into view. It was a small, wickedly sharp curved blade… the kind of thing Spike liked to keep in his duster pockets when he went out on patrol or to Willy’s. She held it up for Will’s perusal.

“I-I guess Spike wasn’t a total softie after all,” he whispered.

“No, my darling boy,” Dawn said. “Spike had his moments, but he could and would take care of himself, not to mention those he loved. Why don’t we take the blade down to your dad when we finish checking out the box?”

Will nodded, dipping his hand back into the box and hoping there were no more sharp, pointed objects to greet him. He did pull out a small journal, and some loose snapshots, however. “Now this is more like it,” he said, spreading out the photos on his bed.

Buffy gasped as she recognized the pictures as part of the shrine Spike had once built to her. She’d gotten off the rocker and knelt in front of the bed to check them out for herself. She ran her hand over them, slightly jarring each image from its place.

“Oh, Will,” she murmured, her hand pausing over each image. “This one is my mom, Joyce. It’s a treasure. So few pictures survived Sunnydale’s destruction. I’d forgive Spike in a moment for the panties for this one picture alone.”

Will blushed, as he finally put two and two together and came up with whose panties those actually were. “I can recognize who’s in this picture,” he said with slight trepidation, as he held up Buffy’s most favorite of all – the trio of Buffy, Willow and Xander from early in their relationship. “You knew Aunt Willow and X-Xander for a long time.

“Ever since high school, Will… that’s why I couldn’t believe some of what he’d done…” she trailed off, not wanting to hurt him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Buffy. It’s just a picture from the past, and I’ve worked hard to put that other stuff behind me.” Will turned his gaze to Dawn with a guilty smile. He was sure it must be weird for her to watch him talking to nothing but thin air.

Dawn picked up the journal and offered it to Will. “Maybe this will give you what you’re looking for – the insight into what kind of vamp Spike was at the time.”

Buffy grew nervous, biting at her fingernails.

“What’s the matter, Buffy? Is there something in here I shouldn’t read?” Will’s anxiety level ratcheted up at the sight of her distress. He was close to making a discovery of some importance… he was sure of it.

“My relationship with Spike was a rather volatile one, except for the last year,” Buffy whispered. “There might be stuff in his journal that would upset you… not only about Spike, but about me. I’m not exactly blameless in this whole thing.”

Straightening his spine, Will stood. “I’m fifteen years old, Buffy. I know I’m not a man… but… I’m sure I’ll be able to handle a little tarnish. You’ve been my rock for so long… I have faith in you.”

Buffy refused to look at him. Her arms were crossed tightly around her chest. She seemed dead certain about something… much like his dad when he went into his whole “I’m older than you and therefore know what’s best for you” routine and it irked him in the same manner.

“Will,” Dawn interrupted, notably avoiding looking in the direction of the rocking chair. “Buffy obviously has a reason she won’t tell you. There are things… things that are bad… She just wants to protect you like we all do.”

Even though he could tell Dawn felt the tension mounting in the room, albeit silent and invisible, Will exploded. He grabbed the pig from the bed and threw it at Buffy. “That’s enough,” he shouted. “I’m just sick and tired of being coddled like a baby. Poor little Will, he can’t handle the truth… little kid too weak to deal with it all. Poor little boy.”

Just as suddenly as it began, his tirade ended, leaving him more tired than angry. “Do you think the Watchers protected me, Aunt Dawn? Buffy, you know better. I need to know the truth. I need to know who I used to be, because if I don’t learn the truth, all I have is what those creeps in England showed me. The blood and gore, and the killing…” he closed his eyes. “You keep telling me… you keep telling me that there was more to him, to me, than what I’ve learned.”

He knelt down, picking up the stuffed pig where it fell and placed it next to Paddy Bear and Hellboy on his shelf.

“I thought you liked Spike,” he sighed, eying the journal on his bed. “I thought that maybe… there’d be stuff that he’d written that would show me – that would make me believe – that there was some innate good to him… me. That he wasn’t all evil.” He was pleading now. “I need to even it all out, Aunt Dawn. I need to believe there was some good in him, and how can I do that if I don’t have the full picture?” By now, he was definitely more hurt than angry. “If he wasn’t totally evil, then why don’t you want me to see what he’d written and find out for myself?”

Dawn bowed her head before speaking. “Because, Will… the Spike I knew… the one I cared for… he was the guy who loved my sister; who took care of me and my mom. But before that… I can’t promise that anything could balance out his previous life. That what you see won’t make you hate yourself even more. And I don’t ever want that for you.

“I’m so sorry, Will,” Buffy whispered, barely loud enough for his enhanced hearing to pick up. “I’ve never been good with the wordage. I’m afraid…”

Will stared at Dawn, at Buffy, then back at the journal. He wanted to throw it at someone, though he’d hurt Dawn and he wouldn’t affect Buffy at all. His mind made up, he grabbed the journal and bolted from his room.


	57. Up Close and Very Personal

Will ran from his room, blindly pushing past his father and not looking back at his mother as he bolted down the stairs. Of course they were listening in. Couldn’t trust him enough to go through a damned box.

They didn’t get it, any of them. They didn’t see the images that constantly replayed against his closed eyelids. The ones those fucking watchers had shown him. Even with all of Lorne’s help and understanding, those images stained his very soul.

Aunt Dawn and Buffy kept saying that Spike ‘wasn’t that bad… that he’d changed,’ but in a way that told the truth all too clearly – he’d been a monster. If he hadn’t been, they wouldn’t be so half-assed with all their qualifiers.

How does one change that much from an evil, soulless monster to a man accepted by society… to be loved by anyone?

And if the journal was from after Spike was souled, how could it show how one year made up for over a century without? Mom and Dad weren’t much on religious church-going. In truth, Will had been a little frightened about asking the views of a werewolf and a vampire.

He’d only gone to a religious service once, with his school. The preacher had spewed forth a hell and damnation sermon, and it had been all Will could do not to turn tail and run from the church. He kept picturing Spike and thinking of the demon he had inside. He’d never told his Dad that some of his worst nightmares revolved around his soul ending up in hell.

Will laughed, bitterly. The priest would probably crap himself if he knew how many different hell dimensions there were… or that demons weren’t scary things made up to force believers into line, but something real and dangerous – that would eat you if you turned down the wrong alley at night.

He pushed through the double doors of the large dining room, ran through the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement, pausing when he passed his mother’s cage. Most months he’d spend several hours sitting across from the cage when his mom occupied it. It seemed to calm her down when he was there, as if she hurt less when she smelled his presence. Every now and again he’d bring his guitar and strum melodies – music really did calm the savage beast.

Will rested his head against the cool steel of the bars, wondering if his dad ever sat vigil… keeping his mom company. They never talked about her demon side – always talked around it. Just like they rarely mentioned the blood in the fridge next to the crackers… or the chains in the box next to the cage.

They also never mentioned the mouthfuls of blood Will slurped straight from the Tupperware container several times a day, not wanting to see the discomfort in his mom’s eyes if he dared to warm it in the microwave.

For a family with so many demons in it, they sure didn’t talk about them much.

Will shrugged. He couldn’t help it if _he_ wasn’t normal, either.

He forced himself away from the cage, realizing he was just procrastinating. As anxious as he was to read the journal, and for all the bravado he’d displayed in his room, there was no small amount of trepidation about its contents, as well.

Walking further into the basement, Will felt drawn to _the_ room. The one he’d always been told to stay away from; that contained the God King Illyria’s sarcophagus. “It was dangerous,” his father said, and that was supposed to be that, but Will felt oddly safe in its presence.

“Looks like it’s you and me, your majesty,” he said, slowly dropping to the floor and folding his legs beneath him. Will shivered slightly. The room was cold… almost ice cold, which, compared to the usual L.A. heat, felt nice.

Just as he turned his attention to the journal, he felt it… a slight warmth by his side. Sure enough, Buffy had followed him.

“I’m going to read this, you know, and you can’t stop me,” Will said, mulishly. He refused to look at her and opened it, half expecting lightning to crash from the sky and smite him where he sat. Ignoring Buffy, he set his eyes to the task, though it took him a few moments to realize he was holding the journal upside-down. “Not cool, Will,” he murmured, half expecting Buffy to butt in.

She remained silent.

First page: the word Mama, written in old-fashioned lettering, stared at him from the middle of the page.

Second page: the name Thomas

Will flipped through the pages, one after another, finding nothing but names – one per page – until he came to descriptions, instead, and locations. He stopped at: Little girl in the coal bin.

Buffy gasped.

Will fiercely flipped back to the beginning, staring at the word Mama; scrubbing angrily at the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“What. Did. He. Do?” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“He… he was trying to save her, Will.” Buffy’s first words were spoken so softly he barely made them out. “He told me that she was dying, and he thought he could save her.”

“And what happened to her?” Will asked, fearing that he already knew the answer. “Afterwards. Did they murder people together?”

“She never got that far. Spike was forced to stake her before she could…”

“So he killed his own mother twice, then?” Will interrupted, eyes wide with horror.

“Her demon… her demon was cruel and vicious, and even as newly vamped as he was, Spike knew there was nothing left of his mother in that vampire. He really was unique – something I never gave him any credit for.”

Will thought for a moment, then asked: “So why didn’t he make someone stake him before he killed people? Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do once you got turned?

Chewing on her nails, Buffy tried to come up with an answer. “He always said being turned saved him, Will. From being a nobody.”

“Better a nobody than a murderer,” he whispered.

“To a human, yes, but to a vampire,” she continued, “… and regardless of what else he was, he was still a vampire. And getting turned wasn’t his fault.”

“He was a murderer.”

She didn’t deny it.

“And this,” he said, shaking the journal under her nose. “This is what you had a relationship with?”

“Will, I was in love with the man inside both vampires, not the monster.”

“What man?” He wanted to throw the journal away. It wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“You know I was very young, and only involved with your father because he had a soul… and Spike… it’s hard to explain Spike,” she said, now unable to look him in the eyes.

Will flipped through the journal again, avoiding contact with her, as well, and stared at the last page. It held a single name:

Buffy

and location:

bathroom

He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for an answer.

Buffy closed her eyes and shivered slightly.

If she dared to say “it’s complicated,” then damn it all, he was getting out of here.

As she hesitated, the sarcophagus began to hum and vibrate, startling them both.

“Oh crap,” she had time to murmur, before things went black.

***

When Will became aware of his surroundings, he was standing in the middle of a room surrounded by men and women in old-fashioned outfits. He tried ducking out of the way of a butler carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres; the man walked right through him. Slightly unnerved, he looked around for Buffy, easily spotting her modern-day jeans and tank top amidst all the frills and lace.

“What’s going on?” he asked, moving to the edge of the room. Having people walk through you was totally uncool.

“Looks like a party, or, you know, the ghost of parties past,” Buffy replied. “Seems like Illyria has something to show us.”

Will looked around for something that might seem familiar, trying to make sense out of this vision when he gasped.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh god,” he said, swallowing hard. “Look over there… on the chair.”

Buffy craned her head to see through the crowd of ghost people and saw what had unsettled Will so.

“Buffy… that’s… that’s me! I was a freakin’ nerd!”

She took in the sight of the slight young man, awkwardly trying to write something while everyone milled around… totally ignoring him. His gold-rimmed glasses had slipped down on his nose, threatening to fall off. His curly hair – the color of Will’s hair – flopped down his forehead and she watched as he brushed the errant curl back in place absentmindedly.

“He’s not a… nerd,” she offered. “He’s probably just shy.”

“Nerd!” Will insisted, watching as his previous self got up to talk with some obnoxiously gesturing man. When the man snatched the papers out of William’s hand, it was all Will could do to restrain himself from going to William’s aid. It would have been useless, of course. Obviously this was just a show of past events, and couldn’t be changed.

“Such a liar,” Buffy murmured. “Always been bad, my ass!”

Pointing at a pretty woman with her brunette hair piled high on her head talking to William, Will smiled. “Maybe I – he –whoever – wasn’t totally hopeless. She’s hot!”

Buffy felt a brief stab of jealousy, which was ridiculous, considering this bimbo died over a hundred years ago. Or did she? Something about her face made Buffy take a second look. She seemed awfully familiar, but she just couldn’t place where she’d seen her before.

“Uh oh!”

Will and Buffy watched as William walked stiffly out of the room, then out of the house, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.

***

One disorienting moment later, they found themselves in a stable, surrounded by bales of hay. William showed up seconds later, sitting down on a bale and angrily ripping his papers to pieces, still crying.

“Oh crap!” Will could scarcely breathe. A dark, beautiful woman approached William, talking and weaving her hands in the air. Will shuddered – he knew her!

“Drusilla!” Buffy hissed, confirming Will’s fears. They watched, together, how William backed away from her until he was cornered. With one hand on his chest, the other tilted his neck and her face morphed before she sunk her teeth deeply and drained the life from William Pratt.

***

Once again, the scenery faded. This time they were out in the open, Chinese peasants running this way and that in terror, buildings on fire, bombs going off all around them. 

“Look,” cried Buffy, pointing to their left. “There’s William again.”

Will spotted his ponytailed former self heading through a pair of lacquered doors, into a large, ancient-looking building – a monastery – and they followed swiftly on his heels. Within moments, he was attacked by a young, lithe, Chinese girl – obviously a Slayer – wearing a tunic and pants, wielding a long blade.

The fight was fast-paced and choppy, nowhere near Spike’s eloquent fighting style. There were dirty feints, punches, kicks… she even managed to slice into his eyebrow, sending blood spattering on the floor.

Will put his hand to his own scarred brow. This was why that old bastard cut him, he realized. This was the one scar that William/Spike kept for the rest of his unlife.

Buffy looked on, fascinated. This had to be how he developed his improvisational fighting skills. He didn’t have the century’s plus worth of knowledge he’d had when they met, yet still managed to survive.

A gasp tore from Will’s throat when it looked like the Slayer had gotten the better of William, until an explosion startled them all, giving him an opportunity to turn the tables and pull the Slayer up against his chest. He made quick work of draining her, then dropped her body to the floor, licking at the blood on his fingers.

Drusilla appeared once again, this time garbed in an oriental jacket and long, flowing skirt. They watched as William stuck his bloody finger into her mouth, her ecstasy at the taste, and their passionate grappling – first against the wall, and then the floor.

***

The disorientation was shorter this time, and the scene quickly morphed into a moving subway train, with Spike – no doubt about the incarnation – fighting what appeared to be yet another Slayer… wearing Spike’s – no, Nikki’s – duster.

Buffy noted his moves were smoother, more practiced, and yet still dirty and unexpected. He managed to end up pinned underneath the Slayer’s legs, her hands grasping his hair in a death grip and his dusting was imminent… until the lights went out. When they came back on, Spike had reversed their positions, and, taking Nikki’s head in his hands, twisted viciously.

Buffy watched, sick to her stomach as Spike stripped the duster from the dead woman and slid his arms into the sleeves. It was a move she’d seen him make countless times but never connected it directly to the Slayer’s death. She shuddered violently.

“Are you okay?” Will asked, concerned. “I know how upsetting this must be for you, as much as the last Slayer he – I – killed.”

“I’ll be fine,” Buffy murmured. “He told me… but seeing it firsthand makes it so much worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Will. It wasn’t you who did this,” Buffy insisted.

“But…

***

There wasn’t time to answer. Will held his stomach, fighting off the by now familiar nausea. The quick scene-hopping was wreaking havoc on his system. Buffy’s, too, from the look of things.

They found themselves in an alley. Will saw Buffy smile as she watched herself fight and stake a vampire.

“We’re in Sunnydale, where I used to live,” she whispered as if not to disturb her former self. “We’re in back of The Bronze – a teen hangout.”

Past Buffy looked up and saw Spike walk out into the light, clapping his hands. “This is where he first threatened to kill me,” she said, fondly.

“And this makes you smile?” Will asked, incredulous.

“Not dead now, am I?”

***

Still night, they were now standing on a grassy field. Spike was standing on a small hill, talking to himself, when, out of nowhere, he was downed by Tasers and dragged away by men in black combat fatigues.

“The Initiative,” Buffy said. “They stuck a behavior modification chip in Spike’s head which kept him from killing any living thing.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

***

“Giles’ place,” Buffy explained of the busy kitchen they now found themselves in.

“Grandpa Giles?”

“One and the same, only much younger.”

They watched as Past Buffy opened the door to a blanket-covered Spike, smoke wafting from his huddled form.

“He came to us for help after escaping the Initiative. He gambled that “the white hats” which is what he called us, wouldn’t kill a harmless being asking for help.”

“You kept him tied to a chair?”

Buffy had the good graces to blush. “And chained in the bathtub. We weren’t very nice to Spike, but in our defense, he had tried to kill us all multiple times.”

Will nodded…

***

And found himself standing on a porch, staring down at Past Buffy, whose head was in her hands, and she was crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked his own Buffy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”

“M-my Mom was sick, and I was scared. She had to go to the hospital, and there wasn’t anything I could do to make things better.”

There was nothing they could do now, but watch as Spike angrily strode into the backyard with a shotgun and paused in front of the porch.

Will stared intently at his past self, watching as his expression changed from one of intense hatred to surprise, curiosity, and finally caring. It was as if the entire range of emotions played through the vampire’s face as he took in the crying Slayer on the steps.

“Why was he so angry at you that he’d brought a shotgun?”

“You know, I don’t even think I registered that gun at the time,” Buffy murmured. “I’d pretty much humiliated him earlier that evening, and he’d probably had enough… he was willing to risk the chip firing to end things once and for all.”

“So why didn’t he shoot you?” Will asked, perplexed. “Instead he’s sitting and patting your back… sort of weirdly.”

Buffy smiled. “I guess he felt bad for me. He’d never seen me cry, either. I do remember thinking how strange it all was.”

***

Spike was bound with his hands behind his back and being held by two scabby demons in an expensive looking apartment. An irate, blonde woman was screaming at him, then, belted him across the face and sent him crashing into a far wall.

“Oh God!” Buffy exclaimed.

“What?”

“We once fought an actual God – Glorificus. She was looking for the Key to get back to her home dimension and Spike knew about it. I only saw the aftermath of the torture he withstood without breaking.”

“The Key?”

“The Key was sent to me to protect… in the form of my little sister. Your Aunt Dawn.”

“Huh!”

Glory went about her sadistic business, pulling Spike around by his torn lip, throwing him on a large, circular bed, straddling his still-bound form and digging her finger deep into his chest.

“This is one seriously creepy bitch,” Will whispered as Spike silently screamed.

“You don’t know the half of it. She beat me to a pulp a time or two.”

Will looked at her disbelievingly.

“Cross my heart.”

When they looked back, Spike was hanging by his wrists from chains attached to a hook in the ceiling. He’d obviously said something to anger the God, and she kicked him hard enough to break his chains and send him flying into the same wall he’d hit earlier. He managed to stand and pull apart the doors to an elevator, and…

***

They found themselves staring at a tower built haphazardly out of lumber. Will watched as the color leeched out of Buffy’s face.

“Okay, now you’re scaring me,” he murmured. “What’s going on?”

“My second death.”

“What do you mean, second death?”

Buffy couldn’t form the words to answer him, nor take her eyes off the tower. She could see the people on top… flinched as Spike fell and hit the ground, and stared at her past self running from level to level until she reached the top. A quick flick of her hand and that bastard, Doc, hit the ground… too late. The spreading portal from Dawn’s dripping feet. Her very own swan-dive into the portal. The reactions to her dead body lying on rubble.

Will paled at that last image. Watching Buffy die was like a knife in his heart. “But how…?”

“My… friends brought me back,” Buffy whimpered as this all played out in living color before her eyes. “But that’s a story for another time.”

“Oh! Look over in the shade,” he said, pointing to a spot not far from her prone body. “Spike… he looks gutted, crying like his heart is broken.”

“And I didn’t believe he had any feelings at all.” Buffy’s words were a mere whisper, but Will heard, watching as she cried for the long-gone vampire.

***

“We’re home,” Buffy said, as the familiar staircase and living room took form around them. “At least, my old home. The porch you saw earlier is off the kitchen.”

Spike stormed into the house, yelling up the stairs, eyes filled with fear and worry… then anger at a teenaged Dawn… and lastly awe, as the girl stepped aside to let a very much alive Buffy walk down the stairs.

Buffy shook her head in amazement. “He tried to take such good care of me,” she said, noting the careful way he took Past Buffy’s hands in his… examining the damage from digging herself out of her grave. The look on his face broke her heart as her friends barged into her home, crowding her with their loudness and enthusiasm, pushing Spike out of the way.

“Nobody gave Spike a second thought in your group, did they?” Will asked, realizing Spike only stayed around for Buffy… for love of Buffy.

***

As soon as Spike walked out the door of Buffy’s house, they found themselves in an alley, watching as Spike landed blow after blow on Buffy, who seemed shocked at first, before returning the favor.

“Geeze Louise, you guys really went at each other, didn’t you?” Will asked, watching the almost choreographed battle between the two blondes. “I thought Spike couldn’t harm any living thing because of that chip in his head.”

“I really wish this wasn’t part of the Memory Lane retrospective of the Buffy and Spike saga,” Buffy sighed. “Starting here, it gets ugly… the ‘complicated’ part of it all.”

They followed the fighting pair into the abandoned house where the fighting continued, parts of the house falling down around them. Past Buffy jumped on Spike, wrapping her legs around his waist, forcing him against the wall where…

“Oh my god!” Will squeaked. “Are they doing what I think they’re doing?”

“Not one of my shining moments, Will. I’m sorry you had to see this.”

Spike staggered away from the wall, still supporting Past Buffy, still doing their thing, when they crashed through the floor and…

***

Wound up in a crypt, outfitted with a television, and pillar candles on every conceivable flat surface. 

Buffy’s breath hitched, causing Will to look at her in concern.

“I can’t believe I miss this place,” she murmured. “Then again, I miss the whole, damned town.”

“You’ve been here before, then?”

“Way more than I should admit to,” she replied.

“Looks like nobody’s home.”

“We need to check out Spike’s bedroom.” Buffy nervously chewed her bottom lip.

***

No sooner said than they found themselves Spike’s bedroom. Spike was in the middle of his bed, belly down, half covered by a sheet, doing what for all the world looked like pushups.

“Why in the world…” Will began, only to be interrupted by the last person he expected to see… Xander! A two-eyed Xander… climbing down the ladder to stand next to them,

In response to something he said, Spike increased his movements on the bed before sitting up.

Buffy turned scarlet and coughed discreetly, causing Will to look at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Uhm… I had a brief bout of invisibility thanks to a trio of nerds, and I felt a sense of freedom about doing what I wanted without anyone seeing me… judging me.”

“So you did Spike?”

Buffy nodded.

“You were doing Spike with that man in the same room?”

“I know he’s not your favorite person, Will… I understand that wholeheartedly, I do. But Xander was my friend, and he was trying to save my life. Being invisible was turning me into pudding!”

Spike stood up, tossing his sheet off and poured himself a drink. He knocked it back and slammed the glass down on a table, grabbing a hold of invisible Past Buffy’s arms.

“Why is he holding you?” Will asked, staring at the space where Past Buffy should be. “Didn’t he get enough of you earlier?”

Through her embarrassment, Buffy said, “He was actually annoyed with me. He said, “If he couldn’t have all of me, he’d rather…”.”

“Oh god!” This time it was Will’s turn to blush. “You’re not playing fair,” he said, turning away from Spike’s reactions to invisible Past Buffy’s attentions.

“Ya know… that’s just what he said,” Buffy agreed.

***

They reappeared in an alley. This time Spike and Past Buffy were pushing and punching each other, both yelling at the other.

“Now what?” asked Will, exasperated. “Seems as if all you did was fight and…”

“Don’t finish that sentence, buster. Trust me, Spike was sorry he ever got those words out of his mouth.”

“You think I’ll just stand here and let you beat on me like you did to Spike?”

Buffy looked taken aback. “I hope not,” she demurred, chastened. “I don’t ever want to be _that_ Buffy again. It wasn’t a good time for me… what with coming back from the dead and all.”

“Looks like it wasn’t a good time for Spike, either.” Will watched as Past Buffy straddled and beat on the vampire until he dropped his game face; his human face swelling and bruising. Past Buffy stood up and walked into a nearby police station, never looking back – never seeing Spike reach for her uselessly.

“I was such a bitch,” she whispered, hiding her head in her hands and avoiding Will’s gaze.

***

“No!” Buffy gasped when they materialized in her old bathroom.

“Don’t tell me it gets worse?”

“Remember I said ugly? I should have said hideous.”

Past Buffy was wearing a grey bathrobe, and holding her hand on her lower back, wincing in pain as she prepared to take a bath. She was joined by Spike and for several moments, they did nothing but talk.

Dread pooled in Will’s stomach as Spike got close to Past Buffy, hands on her hips, then pushing the robe from her shoulders, all the while Buffy trying to move away.

“No,” he whispered, echoing Buffy’s earlier declaration. “Are you demented, Illyria?” he shouted. “There’s no reason for me to see this.”

No quick flash this time… the scene in front of him continued. Struggling against Spike, Past Buffy grabbed the shower curtain and fell, tearing it partially from its rings. Spike followed her to the floor, all the while talking, insisting. The sight of Past Buffy trying to crawl away made him want to hurl, and Will didn’t know how long he’d be able to control himself.

In the end, Past Buffy managed to shove Spike away from her, pulling her robe closed around her body. Spike, himself, looked sick to his stomach. It was obvious Spike’d lost control, but Buffy was right, the whole scene was outright despicable.

“There’s so much more to all this than what you saw, Will,” Buffy tried to explain. “There’s no real time now, with us likely to be transported somewhere else quickly, but I promise, we’ll talk about this later. In full, if you want. Just know it’s not all Spike’s fault. He _was_ wrong to try and force me, but it’s not as black and white as it looked.”

***

Sure enough, the scene changed again, and they almost lost their footing as they found themselves on sand, in front of a large cave. Spike strode in, a look of determination on his face. Buffy and Will followed him inside and were startled by the appearance of an immense demon, stony appearance, glowing blue eyes, and sharp, pointy wings.

“Where are we now?” Will asked. “And what’s going on?”

“It’s gotta be someplace in Africa. This has to be where Spike earned his soul back,” Buffy murmured. “He said there were trials, but he’d never give details.”

“We’re about to get details in living color,” Will said, as a large man banged his wrists together and his hands burst into flames. The fight was brutal, but in the end, Spike defeated old fire-fists, slightly worse for wear with burns over a large portion of his torso.

Will had had enough. He felt each blow to Spike’s as if he, himself were hit. This battle for Spike’s soul was almost more intimate than the sex he’d seen earlier. “Tell me when it’s over,” he begged. “I can’t stand this anymore.”

Buffy, however, couldn’t take her eyes off Spike. The vigor with which he went after his opponent reminded her of what Angel had once said… that “Once he starts something he doesn't stop until everything in his path is dead.”

Thank god that in this instance, he was right.

By the time large, scarab-looking beetles began their climb up Spike’s body, Buffy was squirming, herself. They were gross, and certainly going into places they were never meant to go. “How in the world did he survive this?” she murmured.

Eventually, Spike must have faced his last challenge, because the stony demon was back. He pulled his battered body up to a kneel, and the demon placed a widespread hand on his chest. An immense white light infused Spike’s body as his head tilted back in yet another silent scream and…

***

The cave had turned into a basement. It took Buffy a few moments to realize where they were, but the sight of Past Buffy fighting some decaying spirits made it clear to her… the high school basement.

Will watched intently as Past Buffy somersaulted over her ghouls, wrenched open a door… and found Spike with a head of unruly, two-toned curls.

“What happened to him?” Will asked, noting that something was off in his behavior, as well. “He doesn’t look all there.”

“He’s not, not really,” Buffy replied. “Getting his soul wasn’t an easy experience for him. It was too much to take in the beginning, realizing all the evil he did over the course of his unlife. Spike was seriously unhinged.”

***

And another basement took form around them, this time Buffy’s own. Spike was chained to the wall, straining at his bonds, yelling at Past Buffy.

Will was surprised. “What’s with the bondage?”

“We found out Spike was being controlled by the First Evil, and being forced to kill again,” Buffy said softly. “It wasn’t his fault, but he tried to goad me into killing him so it wouldn’t happen again.”

“And you didn’t? Wasn’t he dangerous?”

“Of course he was, but he’d changed so much over the years, we felt - _I_ \- felt I owed it to Spike to try and free him from the First.”

***

This time Spike was lying on a cot, hands still chained, his pillow stained with blood. Past Buffy was standing next to him.

***

Before Buffy could say a word, the scene changed again. A huge, cavernous hall, littered with mummified bodies of unrecognizable species and rubble. In the center of which, Spike was lying on a gurney and Past Buffy was talking with a uniformed soldier.

“We’re in the Initiative’s underground bunker,” said Will’s Buffy. “Remember that behavior modification chip I told you about?” she asked Will. “It had begun to malfunction, firing all the time with no reason, and it was killing Spike.”

“So you went to the Army?”

“These soldiers were part of the Initiative that chipped him in the first place. They gave me a choice – to either remove the chip totally, or replace it with a new one.”

“Then he got a new chip and went back to live in your basement? Did that stop the First from controlling him?”

“I told them to remove it,” Buffy murmured softly. “Spike had earned the right to make his own choices without his brain getting fried for a simple misstep. I trusted him with my life – with the lives of everyone around me.”

***

Buffy found herself and Will in her basement once more. She could honestly say she was getting homesick after all these years away.

Spike was standing by his cot; Past Buffy was walking down the basement stairs. She touched his face, tenderly cupping his cheek, then handed him some gaudy-looking necklace.

“And the reason for the bad jewelry is…?” Will asked, watching as Spike let it twirl from his hand.

“Your Dad brought that lovely piece from Wolfram and Hart… said it had to be worn by someone stronger than human, souled, and a champion.. He had planned to wear it, but I sent him back to Los Angeles. I gave it to my champion… Spike.”

“No more problems with the First controlling him?”

“Nope, we managed to work through it, eventually. It almost cost me my Watcher, and Spike his life, but in the end, it all worked out.

***

With a dizzying swirl, they found themselves at the edge of a terrifying crevasse from which hideous fanged creatures swarmed. “This is the Hellmouth – where the battle with the First went down,” she explained. “This is when Aunt Willow shared the power of my Slayer scythe and made all the potentials into full-blown Slayers.”

“And those ancient-looking, bald demons were all killed by you and the new Slayers?”

“Hah!” Buffy snorted. “We were barely holding our own against those Uber-vamps… the Turok-han.. See over there? One of ‘em ran me straight through with a sword.”

“Well, you obviously survived,” Will noted wryly. “So how in the hell did you defeat these guys?”

“Remember the amulet I gave to Spike? He wore it and for awhile, it did nothing, but suddenly it activated, pinning him in place… right over there,” she said, pointing to a spot near the carved stairs.

Will watched as it began to glow, and then rays of golden light flashed out, dusting the demons it came in contact with. He watched as Past Buffy ran up to him, entwined her hand with his. Their hands were enveloped in golden flames, but not burning. It was a stunning sight, but Will knew there was a price coming.

Sure enough, Spike dropped Past Buffy’s hand, shook his head and pointed the way to the stairs as the cavern began to collapse. She ducked the falling debris and made it up the stairs, obviously to safety.

His last view of Spike was of the flame turning his body to ash as everything came down upon them.

***

With a thump, Will found himself seated in the basement - _his_ basement, Buffy beside him. She looked totally exhausted, which was rather impressive for a non-corporeal being. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned for his long-time companion.

Buffy looked at him with tears in her eyes. “The question is, are _you_ okay? I’ve lived through this before, though I’ll admit it’s so not easier the second time around. You’ve been hit with a lot of Spike’s and my history in one lump. It has to be overwhelming.”

Will nodded, thoughtful. “I have to agree with you,” he said, picking at a seam in his jeans. “You and Spike? Way complicated.”


	58. Life Moves On

**Two Years Later – April 2021**

Will sat in the familiar black leather chair facing Lorne. The anagogic demon’s demeanor seemed nervous, but he sat quietly, waiting for Lorne to speak.

“Well, bucko,” he said after a few tense moments. “It seems as if we’ve come to the end of the line.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, sweet cheeks, that you’ve come as far as I can bring you. I think you’re more than ready to stand on your own two feet in your life.”

“This is my last visit?” Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Yes, he was coping well with things. The nightmares had pretty much stopped, and he no longer flinched in fear when strange men approached him. But Lorne was a safe haven. One where he could be heard objectively by someone who wasn’t blinded by love. Giving this up was a big step.

“Hey, hey. No need to worry, cupcake. I’m not going anywhere,” Lorne insisted. “I promise you can always call me if you need to, or even if you just want to talk. I just think you’re capable of taking your life into your own hands.”

“A-are you sure?” Will felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was hard to remember his total distrust of Lorne during his initial sessions. Nowadays he had grown quite fond of the green guy.

“I’d bet my two red horns on it, Will.”

Will nodded, letting the news and the decision settle in his mind. “I _can_ do this,” he said, slapping the arm of the chair. “I’m seventeen years old and nearly an adult. I can shape the way I want my life to be.”

“I’m not telling you to disregard your parents, mind.” The skin around Lorne’s eyes crinkled with amusement as he watched the teen seem to mature before him.

With a wave of his hand, Will dismissed his worries. “I’m not planning to stage a revolution, but I can and will say what I want and need. I don’t have to be a mama’s boy, or follow blindly behind my father. I can be my own man.”

“Bravo!” Lorne flourished a salute. “I think you’ve got it!”

“I’d like to ask you something, since graduation seems to be on the table today.” Will twisted his hands together in his lap, suddenly looking more like a little boy than the young adult he now claimed to be. “I’ll be graduating from high school in a couple of months. It would be… I mean, if you want…”

“I’d be delighted to watch you get your diploma,” Lorne said happily. “In fact, I’d be downright honored.” He hesitated for a moment, a dark look crossing his face. “There are a few things I have to tell you though, and I’m not sure you’ll really want me there after you hear me out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, muffin. Just let me tell my tale before you walk out.”

Will nodded.

“Remember when I encouraged you to seriously pick up your guitar? To pour out your feelings in song?”

Will patted the case of his black and silver Fender Stratocaster and nodded. It had been a present from his parents on his fifteenth birthday, along with weekly lessons. They figured it would help ease the pain of having to quit the swim team.

“Outside of giving you an enjoyable outlet, I had another reason for asking you to sing and play for me. I can read lifepaths… but only if you sing.”

Will stammered, “Y-you’re one s-sneaky bastard.” It unnerved him that Lorne could see… could know… more than what Will was willing to tell him.

“I promise you I never divulged anything I learned to anyone but you, sweet William. The knowledge let me know you were healing and on your way to a healthy recovery.”  
With no small amount of restraint, Will forced himself to sit quietly and not blow up at the invasion of his privacy.

“You could have just asked,” he muttered.

“You know better than that, buckaroo,” Lorne chided. “And now we’re onto the more difficult revelation. You know you were referred to me by Dr. Brzz’ic, right?” At Will’s next nod, Lorne continued. “Your folder held all your pertinent information; your background, your parents’ species, and so on. Haven’t you ever wondered why I’ve never asked them to visit? Never consulted them on your progress?”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, I guess it’s a bit weird. Most of my friends in therapy have their parents sit in occasionally.”

“Well, son, I’ve got a very good reason for not having them here. I have to admit that I knew your father years ago. And I’ve met your mother, too.”

Will gasped, his body going rigid in the chair. Surely he’d heard wrong.

“Old Angelcakes and I had come to a major parting of the ways about the time he and his merry men took on the Circle of the Black Thorn. Has he ever told you about that?”

“Y-yes,” Will hesitated. “It’s where he found me… where Spike… where he was changed into a baby - me.” Will stood up and started pacing around the room. “Oh my god! That means you knew me… knew Spike. Before!”

“You’re right, Slim. I knew you back when you were in love with Buffy… the first time.”

“But _why_ didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell me how far you and my family… you and I go back?”

Lorne scratched his chin, wondering how best to put this out for the kid. “Truth is I didn’t think you could handle it when you were younger. You’d been totally traumatized, and I felt it was more important to treat you as you are now, as opposed to who you were then. I also thought it was up to your family to fill you in on the Spikester’s life.”

“But I _told_ you!” Will insisted. “I told you I wasn’t getting answers from anyone. Nothing that gave me the insight I needed.”

“And now?” Lorne asked, fingers steepled, demeanor maddeningly calm. “Have you finally gotten the answers you craved?”

“You know I have. I told you about that whole spirit trip thing with Buffy thanks to Illyria.”

Lorne winced at the mention of the Old One’s name. He shook it off, however, and said, “In the end, I think it’s best that you found out on your own. Yes, it took longer, but I think you now have a truer picture of Spike than anything you could have gotten from me. I didn’t know him long.”

“But you knew my dad. You hung out with him and his people for years,” Will accused. “And now you’re avoiding him, but treating his son. Why did I deserve the honor?”

“Because you were a child that had been wronged. Because you needed help, and I knew I could make things better, and I didn’t have to deal with your father.”

“Coward!”

Lorne blanched.

“Coward!” Will repeated, just as vehemently. “You put me through hell. I begged you to leave me alone. Begged you to let me forget. Begged you not to make me face it. And yet you’ve been hiding from my dad for all these years. Where’s the fair, here?”

Lorne put his head in his hands. Maybe it was time to face the music after all. Looking directly at Will, he said, “You’re right, kid. Your father made me face a part of myself that needed to be buried. I haven’t been back to your dimension since.”

“I think it’s something you need to do.”

“Hey! Who’s the counselor here?”

“I learned from the best.” Will couldn’t help his smirk, and watched Lorne’s eyes open wide.

“You’re certainly growing into that face, dumpling. It’s getting more recognizable every time I see you.”

***

Driving to the Hyperion, Lorne didn’t have to ask for directions once. Will, beside him, could see the man was nervous by the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel and half expected him to turn around at any moment, but he’d promised to see this through, and he believed him.

“Hey Dad!” he called out as he entered the lobby. “Someone’s waiting for you at the door. Lots of shadows, so don’t worry.”

Angel looked at his son with suspicion. Why didn’t he just bring the person inside like he normally did? He shrugged, opening the door and would have passed out from shock if he’d needed to breathe. “L-lorne?”

“Hey, Angelwings. Am I still welcome?”

Numbly, Angel stepped aside, motioning for Lorne to enter. “How… Who… Where…?”The words just wouldn’t come past his throat.

Will couldn’t stand the tension building in the room. This wasn’t helpful to anyone. “C’mon, you two. You’d think after nearly twenty years that one of you would have something to actually say to the other.” He circled around the pair, trying to work out the dynamic displayed. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from you, it’s spew first, edit later.”

“I’m quite sure I never let the word spew touch my lips, cupcake.”

The moment the light went on over Angel’s head, Will stepped back and let things go from there.  
“You? You’ve been Will’s therapist?”

“The one and only.”

“Then why... how could you treat my son for all these years and not get in touch with me?” Angel was truly perplexed.

“Come now, Angelkins. Surely you know the answer to that.”

“Enlighten me, for the hell of it.”

“Your son, previously known as William the Bloody, desperately needed help, which was something I could offer without having to be in touch with you. Dr. Brzz’ic gave me a detailed explanation of what happened to him, and there was nothing more you could tell me, since you weren’t with him.”

“And you were a coward,” Will chimed in from across the room. “Let’s not forget the important part.”

Lorne’s cheeks turned bright green. “Then there’s that,” he admitted. “I walked away and I didn’t look back and I’m not sorry for it. I needed the distance to survive what I’d become; chewed up by Wolfram and Hart, bullied beyond my limits by you… I was lost.”

“But I never…”

“Yes, you did, bucko. And I let you, and that was my undoing. But enough!” he said, holding up his hand. “I didn’t come here to argue old points. I came because a remarkable young man asked me to come to his graduation, and I wanted to mend old fences.”

“That would be… good,” Angel said, slowly extending his right hand.

Lorne, however, ignored it and pulled the vampire into a hug. “You’re looking good, mi amigo. Better than when we first met, even way before the badness of Evil, Inc.”

Angel smiled, looking at his son. “I owe it all to family, Lorne. Will, and Nina. Oh! And Connor and his family live here, too… Dawn and their son, Liam.”

“Don’t forget Lotte, Hugh and Bethany,” Will added.

“Damned vampire hearing,” Angel muttered. “The kid doesn’t miss a thing.”

“He’s an unusual boy. You and Nina have done an exceptional job of raising him. Is she here? I’d love to see her again.”

“If you can stay, she’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

“We’ll see how the time goes,” Lorne conceded.

This time the silence was more companionable as the two old friends sat deep in thought.

“So, Lorne... what else have you been doing with yourself since…?”

“Tell ya what, Sparky.” Lorne straightened his collar and composed himself. “What say we leave the past in the past? Looking back will only bring up unwanted, unnecessary memories for us both.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Lorne cocked his head, looking the vampire in the eyes. “There’s something different about you,” he said, patting Angel on the shoulder. “There’s so much less agitation, less repressed fury emanating from you.”

“I’m not fighting with Angelus twenty-four-seven anymore. Seems as if when I set out to rescue Will, he and I came to an agreement. I’ve never felt him as furious as he was then… and it was in defense of my boy.”

“Are you saying Will’s tamed the beast in you?” Lorne stared at him with incredulity. “Oh, Angelwings, it sounds as if you’ve made peace with more than Angelus. Sounds like you’ve finally done away with your Spike issues.”

Angel reflected on the past years with Will, then nodded. “Once I stopped railing at the Powers that Be for giving the Shanshu to Spike and then saddling me with him, the antipathy vanished. And besides,” he added. “Who could resist Will for long? Nina called me on my behavior and withheld her… well, withheld. It didn’t take long for me to see the error of my ways. Will was – is a blameless innocent with no blood on his soul. It just took me awhile to see it. And Spike had been doing the right thing for years, without a soul, and with.”

“I’m well and truly impressed,” Lorne said with a smile. "I never would have believed it possible back in the day.”

“I’m happy… and content,” Angel mused. “And I haven’t been worried about being ‘perfectly happy’,” he said, complete with air quotes. “Angelus hasn’t rattled his cage in years, and I think I’ve pretty much used up my brood quotient for the time being.”

“Sounds like you found a way around that curse.”

“I think it’s more a matter of balance. A man’s family does that for him. It makes him happier than he could ever be alone and sadder at the same time. Seems like you really can’t have one without the other.”

“Love and marriage, indeed,” said Lorne, nodding in agreement. “Seems like I came back at a good time. No more suicidal tendencies, eh?”

“No more tilting at windmills,” Angel said. “And my happiness is always tempered by the loss of our friends back then. You coming back into my life is a good thing, buddy.”

Lorne smiled. Reading the peace in the vampire’s aura was delicious, and so much more than he’d hoped for. Old friends, he sighed. You can never have too many. He settled back against the tufted cushion of the circular couch and waited for Nina to come home.

***

Will sat on his bed and toed off his shoes. In the mood for company, he called Alonna on his cell phone and told her to meet him upstairs in Buffy’s room. A quick shower later, a dab of fresh deodorant, a stripe of minty freshness on his toothbrush, and he was ready to meet and greet.

“Hey, Will.” Bethany was waiting for him outside his door. “If you’re going to see Buffy, can I come with you?”

He looked at the girl, who really was well on her way to becoming a teenager at twelve years old and shrugged. 

“Sure Bethy. You’re more than welcome. Maybe you can find out why Buffy’s been missing in action for the past few weeks.”

She beamed, happy that he wasn’t shooing her away. “Maybe you should bring Mr. Gordo with us? It might help draw her out if she’s having trouble materializing for you.”

“Good idea, Munchkin,” he said, tweaking her nose as he went to get the aforementioned piggy. “I just hope Alonna doesn’t think I’m nuts for holding onto a stuffed pig.”

Bethany laughed. “She’s certainly seen it on your shelf enough times. Haven’t you told her whose it is?”

“Huh! I don’t think she’s ever asked.” He shrugged and headed up the stairs to Buffy’s room, Bethany following close behind.

With a quick tug, Will snatched the sheet covering Buffy’s stone form and put it aside. He gently stroked the side of her face, murmuring, “Hey there, sweet girl. I’ve missed you.”  
He picked up his guitar, which he’d taken to leaving in her room, and strummed a simple melody, something light and airy – hopeful.

Bethany sat down next to Will with Mr. Gordo in her lap, scratching the piggy absentmindedly behind the ears.

A slight rap on the door announced Alonna’s arrival. She was beautiful, black hair cut into a short poufy afro, pinchable round bottom, and an enticing chocolate brown cleavage showing in the vee of her soft sweater. He might not love her as a boyfriend would, but one thing William Dowell could do was appreciate a fine formed woman. He patted the ground beside him and kissed her cheek when she sat down.

“So, anything?” she asked, motioning towards the statue.

“We just started, ‘lonna. Bethy thought it might help if we had Buffy’s favorite stuffed pig close by.”

“So _that’s_ who the pig belonged to,” Alonna laughed. “I always wondered why you had that on your shelf. It didn’t seem quite your style.”

“Hey guys…” Bethany started, surprised when the pig floated out of her grasp.

“Nobody disses my pig,” Buffy’s words registered only in Will’s ears. “Hey, Will. It’s good to see you, too,” she said, her ghostly lips leaving a warm tingle on his cheek.

“Well, this is new,” mused Bethany. “I’ve been able to feel her presence before, but never seen her ability to interact with solid objects. Hey, Buffy,” she said, waving her fingers in the direction of Mr. Gordo.

Will whispered something into Alonna’s ear, and she blushed. “I didn’t mean anything about your pig, Buffy. I just meant it didn’t seem like something Will would hold on to.”

Buffy laughed. “Tell her not to get her panties in a bunch, Will. I was just defending Mr. Gordo’s honor.”

“Buffy said not to worry about it, ‘lonna,” Will repeated dutifully. “She’s just very passionate about her old piggy.”

“Says the guy who still holds on to his Paddy Bear,” Buffy snorted.

This time it was Will’s turn to blush.

“Oh, Will. I think I like this girl.” Alonna’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “She must have zinged you a good one.”

He ducked his head and smiled, punching her gently in the shoulder. Straightening up, he turned to Buffy and asked, “So, where have you been? And what’s wrong? You look… exhausted.”

When Buffy looked up at Will, her eyes seemed old. Not like an older woman’s eyes, but more like someone ancient – who’d seen way too much. It frightened him.

“It’s hard to explain my time when I’m not here,” she murmured, staring at the floor. “It feels like dreams and nightmares following Her Highness around. And it’s not like walking behind someone, but more like molecules floating around an infinite space. And many, many different times and dimensions.”

“She keeps you hopping, then?”

“It’s not so much that she’s afraid – she’d deny that with her last breath, but she’s showing me things she wants me to watch out for… to have her back should there be an uprising of any sort.” Tears pooled in her eyes and her bottom lip wibbled as she spoke. “Will, I don’t know how to fight like this. It’s too much. She’s just asking for more than I think I have to give, and it keeps me away from you.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“When it doesn’t involve your safety, it seems as if Her Majesty is all self-absorbed. Nobody else matters,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. “Remember Wesley? She’s got him tied up, too. And she’s never given him the freedom she’s given me.”

Alonna placed her hand on Will’s shoulder, causing him to startle. He’d forgotten she was there. “What’s wrong, Will?” she asked. “You look so worried.”

“Something’s going on, ‘lonna. Buffy doesn’t look well at all.” He touched the sculpture’s stone shoulder, feeling the familiar frisson of _something_ that’s always passed between them. “I-I don’t know why, but I have the oddest feeling that we’re running out of time.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Will.” Buffy pouted, gently stroking the pig’s well-worn plush.

“Aunt Dawn is trying really, really hard,” Bethany said. “She and my Dad have been working for hours and hours every day trying to find a way to free her.”

Buffy sighed. “I just… I _need_ for this to end, Will. I’ve tried. I feel like I’ve been trying forever, but it’s not easy existing out of synch with everything. And, and I love being able to talk with you, and be with you as much as I’m allowed, but there has to be more. I miss talking with my baby sister, who’s way older than me already. I have a nephew I’ve never kissed. I miss other people, my friends, Angel… I miss everything and everyone. Hell, I even miss slaying!” She wrapped her arms around her knees, making herself small. “I need someone to touch me – to make me feel real. I’m losing it, Will,” she sniffled.

Will was beside himself in frustration. He stood and began pacing around the room. “I swear to you, Buffy, one way or another we’re gonna free you from this statue. If I have to stay home from college and work night and day with Aunt Dawn and Grandpa Giles, we’ll find the answer for you.”

Alonna looked aghast at Will’s declaration. “Oh, Will!” she cried. “You can’t possibly think of giving up your future for…”

“For what, Alonna? For nothing? For a hope and a prayer? A figment of my imagination?” Will turned on his best friend in a way he’d never done before, furious at her… at his own impotence. “How about for the woman I love? Does that make it any better? Don’t you think I’d do the same for you if you needed me?”

Tears sprang to the teen’s eyes as she sat there, taking Will’s fury to her heart. “I-I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean anything bad… I just meant what if you can’t find a way? What if this is the best you can both have? I love you, Will. You’re my oldest, bestest friend, and I feel sympathy for Buffy, but she’s not here, and you are. You have to go on living… no matter what.”

Buffy let out a small, bitter bark of laughter. “So one of us is living, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Will asked, totally perplexed by her statement.

“Just something Spike once said to me, when my life didn’t seem worth living. He was right, of course. And so is your friend, Will. You can’t give up everything for me. You shouldn’t give up anything for me.”

Her tears proved to be his undoing. He couldn’t hold her while she cried things out, he couldn’t wipe the tears from her cheeks. There was nothing he could do for her, after all she’d done for him. If only this was one of their dream meetings, but he hadn’t had one in years. Will slumped to the floor, his head in his hands, shoulders shaking from the emotion roiling through his body.

“Will!” Bethany’s voice rang out loud and clear, causing him to sit upright and look at her. “I can see her. Buffy! And her aura… it’s… it’s… swirling around her.”

Buffy stood up, a hopeful look in her eyes, the pig left forgotten on the floor.

“What do you mean, Bethy?” he asked, dashing the tears away from his eyes.

“I can’t explain it exactly. It’s just… well, her aura seems different. It ‘s nothing like her old signature.”

“And that means what?”

“Something is gonna change – something big. The problem is, I can’t tell you when. But it’s positive… definitely something good,” Bethany insisted.

“Did you see her too, ‘lonna?”

Alonna sighed. “Sorry, Will. Nothing at all.”

“Please, Bethy,” Will begged. “Please tell me you’re not just trying to make me feel better.”  
Bethany shook her head, her braids dusting the tops of her shoulders. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Will grabbed her in a bear hug, happy to have a physical way to express himself. “Thanks, Bethy. For Buffy’s sake I hope you’re right.”

Alonna looked at him with huge brown puppy dog eyes. Will opened his arms to welcome her in for a group hug. “I’m sure it’ll be okay, Will. We’ll all just have to have faith,” she murmured into his ear.

Buffy drifted over to the huddle and wrapped her arms about Will’s shoulders, leaning her head as best she could against his. Maybe her nightmare was finally coming to an end.


	59. Graduation

**June 2021**

The early morning light actually woke Will from his slumber for a change, about ten minutes before his alarm had been set to go off. With a full-body stretch that cracked several vertebrae in his back and neck, he unsettled Oreo from her spot on his belly. She was about four years old now, a large, stuffed pillow of a cat who enjoyed sharing his body heat as he slept.

“Don’t give me that face, fat cat,” he said fondly, ruffling the fur along her back. “Today’s a big day for me – I’m graduating from high school!”

Oreo meowed twice, loudly, and bumped her head against Will’s chin.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he said, fingers paying homage to her furry throat, feeling the deep vibrations of her purrs. If this were any other day, he’d be content to stay in bed with Oreo. Cuddling with her made him mellow and sleepy. But… it wasn’t any other day, it was _Graduation Day_ and he had things to do before the ceremony.

A nice, leisurely shower came first, followed by the ritual of blow-drying the curls until they behaved and lay somewhat flat. Comfy black jeans and a royal blue button-down shirt made up his outfit for the day. It really didn’t matter, since his clothes would be covered with the long, navy robe. The matching mortarboard had a navy and white tassel.

He started at the knock on his door and smiled when Mom peeked her head in.

“My goodness, you are a handsome sight,” she said, watching as he held the robe up against his body. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Dunno why,” Will answered with a self-deprecating smile. “I missed Valedictorian by a mile.”

“First of all, it was only by a few grade points,” Nina defended. “Secondly, my pride has nothing to do with your standing in your class. You’re my son, and you’ve survived so much, not to mention high school, itself. How could I not be proud of you?”

Will couldn’t deny the light shining in his mother’s eyes. She was happy… for him. In a rare move these days, he put down the graduation robe and grabbed Nina around the waist, hugging her tightly. “I love you, Mom,” he murmured, before kissing her on the cheek.

“I love you, too, baby,” she said, returning his kiss with one of her own. “Now, how about something special for breakfast? A cheese omelet? Apple pancakes? Blood pudding?”

“Very funny, Mom.” Will smiled. He still needed to take his supplemental blood, but it was down to once a week now instead of three times a day as it had been when he was younger. He was much more at ease with himself than he was way back then; at least enough to joke about it now without tasting the bile of self-hatred. “Apple pancakes sound wonderful. With plenty of cinnamon?”

“Of course. Is there any other way to make them?”

Fifteen minutes later found Will at the kitchen table, devouring a huge stack of apple pancakes, sweet breakfast sausage, orange juice, and a tall glass of milk.

“Hey, boyo,” said Angel as he entered the kitchen, hair still wet from showering after a long night’s patrol. “Are ya nervous about tonight?”

“Are you kidding me?” Will’s eyes opened wide over his plate as he finished stuffing the last of the pancakes into his mouth. “What’s left to be nervous about? Classes are finished, all the grades have been registered, college acceptance letters have been received. No more surprises!”

Angel turned to Nina and smiled, a move not unnoticed by Will.

“Da-ad… what did you do?”

“Who me?” Angel held his hands up in a conciliatory manner. “Now your mother, on the other hand…”

Nina thwapped the back of Angel’s head with a dishtowel. “Thanks, Angel,” was all she said.

Angel looked at Will in such a way, that he knew his father was preparing to say something ‘deep’. Remembering how Buffy called it his constipated look, Will had to stifle a chuckle.

“All right, all right,” Angel conceded. “Since I’ve already let most of the cat out of the bag, we might as well show you your graduation present just a little bit early.”

Will followed his parents, his breath quickening as they entered the garage. Angel and Nina stepped apart, showing Will a bright, shiny red convertible with a black leather interior.

“The car isn’t new, son,” Angel began, watching Will’s reaction warily. “But a mechanic I saved from several P’tyon demons was willing to do me a favor. It’s totally refurbished and the engine purrs like a kitten.”

Will wasn’t paying any attention to his father. He ran his hands over the car’s exterior lovingly, kneaded the soft, supple leather seats and took a deep breath of new car smell. “This is the best present ever!” Will declared, torn between hugging his parents and keeping his hands on the car. The sound of jingling keys made his mind up for him, and he snagged them from his mother’s fingers.

“The red must have been your choice, Mom,” Will said, kissing Nina on the cheek. “If it were up to Dad, I’m sure it would have been black, like his.”

“Hey! Black is good,” Angel defended.

Nodding, Will gave his father a teen’s regulation “there, there, you’re not old and out of step with reality” look. “Thanks, Dad. This…” he said, pointing to the car, “is totally beyond anything I expected.” He gave him one of those manly hugs, slapping his father on the back.

Angel grasped Will’s biceps and held him at arm’s length. _And here it comes… the deep!_ “I wish I had the words for this… to tell you what this means to me. What you mean to me.” The look in his father’s eyes was over-bright and intensely focused. “You know I never got the chance to raise your brother from infancy, right?”

Will nodded.

“I was sure that was it – my one and only shot at being a father. And then there was the fight with the Black Thorn. I lost almost all of my friends and never expected to survive. But I did… and then there was you. It was hard, having known Spike for so long and basically losing him like the others. I didn’t see _you_ for so long. But your Mom helped. I lost my heart to you, boyo.”

“Aw, Dad. Now you’re just being girly.”

“It’s my right, Will. You changed me, for the better. Learning new tricks wasn’t easy for an old vampire. You taught me how to live in the now, not the past.”

“Even with my obsession about my – Spike’s – past?”

“Especially with. You’re Spike, reborn. All bright, shiny and new, with none of his past sins on your shoulders. Proud doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about you, son.”

Will couldn’t push any words past the lump in his throat. He simply thumped his dad on the back again and stepped towards the car.

Angel’s arms encircled his wife’s waist and they walked out of the garage, leaving their son with his graduation present and his thoughts.

He wasn’t alone for long.

“Wanna go for a spin, big guy?”

Will turned, a smile on his face. “Buffy! I was wondering if you’d show up.”

“I waited until your folks left. I can’t believe the change in Angel,” she marveled, shaking her head. “In all the time I’d known him, he was _never_ as open with his feelings as he just was with you. You’ve been so good for him. Your mom, too, of course.”

“We don’t usually get so touchy-feely, you know. It’s just today…”

“I know. Today you graduate from High School!” Buffy laughed, ghosting her hand over Will’s on the car’s door frame. “At least you don’t have to blow up your school like I did.”

“Really? I’m so impressed.”

“I wasn’t an anarchist, or anything. The Mayor turned into a giant snake demon, and it was the only way to kill him. My friends and I loaded tons of dynamite into the library and I made Mr. Snakey follow me through the halls until…”

“I always knew a little knowledge was a dangerous thing.” Will smirked and Buffy was taken aback for a moment.   
“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly. I mean, I always knew who you were. I should have realized that as you grew up, you’d look more and more like the… William… I knew. It’s different actually seeing it on you – that smirk was just classic Spike.”

“Funny you should say that – my ex-therapist, Lorne, said pretty much the same thing. I’d sort of put it out of my mind, too. I saw film of Spike in his heyday when I was a kid, and thanks to Illyria, got treated to the Spike and Buffy movie, but I never put two and two together about my face before. Even though I see myself in the mirror every morning.”

“But it doesn’t make you _him_ ,” Buffy insisted. “You’ve made yourself your own man, Will. Don’t forget, I knew Spike… probably as well as any human ever knew a vampire. I knew his bad side and his good side. While you have physical similarities, of course, you’ve had an entirely different upbringing. William Pratt was born in the Victorian era. His sensibilities are not yours, no matter how well he adapted to the different time periods he lived through.”

“I have to ask you something, Buffy… and there’s no easy way to do it.”

“Just go for it. It’s not like we haven’t dealt with the hard things before.”

Will nodded. “When you look at me, who do you see?”

Swallowing hard, Buffy looked him straight in the eyes. “I see William Matthew Jamison Dowell.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the Pratt? The part of me that’s Spike?” Will’s hands curled into fists at his side, anxiety riddled his face.

“I will never forget Spike as long as I live, Will. He deserves to be remembered for being the most unique vampire ever to walk the earth, among other things. And yes, you have his face, and his body – though I think you’re actually a little taller already – but I’ve watched you grow up from a baby to a young man, and I think I know you better than I ever knew Spike.”

Eyebrow cocked, Will silently challenged her to be more specific.

“I know you like peppermint ice cream, especially around Christmas time and I know that you wear silk boxers because they breathe.” Will blushed, but she went on without missing a beat. “You put yourself out there for your friends, and you put poetry to music when you write love songs. You get off on playing with your band, but have a hard time with the admiration that comes with it.”

His eyebrow crawled almost to his hairline, and Will felt somewhat discomfited. He did ask, however, and he nodded his head for her to continue.

“Your favorite color switches on and off from red to blue. If you could eat anything you wanted, you’d have chicken cutlet parmesan with fettuccini alfredo. You’re not fond of any kind of math, but English and reading warms your soul. You’ve got a terrific sense of right and wrong, and understanding for the grey area. You…”

“Okay, okay!” Will couldn’t take any more. “So you look at me and actually see me, not Spike, I get it. I can’t help what I look like, and I’ll just have to deal with the fact that I wear your dead lover’s face.”

“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

“It’s the truth, Buffy. I’ve had to come to terms with being the physical embodiment of Spike the vampire. And I won’t deny you your memories. It’s just good to know I don’t have to worry about competing with myself.”

“Oh, Will,” Buffy murmured. “I wish I could hug you and let you know how much I adore you. I love you on so many different levels. The fact that I’ve learned to actually say the words means I haven’t spent all this time in limbo for nothing. I’m still hoping that one day I’ll actually be free to be with you.”

“It’s what I want more than anything in the world, Buffy. Aunt Dawn and Uncle Hugh are still heavy into research and talk with Grandpa Giles all the time. They’re really trying hard. With any luck, it’ll be before I’m back in diapers.”

“Don’t you say the sweetest things?” Buffy laughed.

“I do my best, ma’am. And now it’s time for me to head out to school and practice for this evening’s ceremony. Will you be there?”

“If I had my way, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll talk to you later tonight. Have fun – and remember… no destruction of school property.”

Will smiled, and headed inside the house.

***

The hall was warm and buzzing with the chatter of the hundreds of people in attendance. Lorne was already seated when everyone arrived, and was greeted with delight and warm embraces from Gunn. He was wearing a beige suit with a peacock blue shirt, and his horns were covered with a jaunty hat perched rakishly on his head. Dark glasses completed his camouflage. Most people didn’t look long enough at him to notice his emerald-green skin.

“Cutting it a little bit close, aren’t you, Angelcakes?” Lorne handed copies of the program to both Angel and Nina as they sat beside him. “They’re about to start the processional.”

Sure enough, they’d barely settled in their seats when the first stirring notes of Elgar’s [Pomp and Circumstance](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0PHWKRFgZ0&feature=related) were played by the student orchestra on stage. Students began to walk down the three aisles in the auditorium, straight-backed and proud, uniform in their navy-blue gowns and mortarboards. There were serious faces and smiles; some waved as they spotted their parents.

“Someone poke me when you spot Will,” Nina asked, holding the camcorder steady. 

All eyes were focused on the aisles when Alonna patted Nina on the knee. “He’s in the middle aisle, Aunt Nina. Just coming in the door now.”

“Thanks, baby,” Nina replied, swinging around to capture her son’s shining moment. He walked in rhythm with the rest of the students – walk, step together, walk, step together – eyes staring straight ahead as he followed his friends to their seats in the front of the auditorium. They stood until all the students had entered, and the music faded away.

The conductor turned from the orchestra and raised her baton. When she dropped her arm, the students sat, en masse. Mrs. Reinhardt, the principal, stood center stage and began to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to honor our children as Chelsea Clinton High School’s 2021 graduating class. Inasmuch as we have many guest speakers here today, I won’t add to the number by being long-winded. Let me turn over the lectern to the Honorable Sarah Brennan, Mayor of Los Angeles.

Angel turned to his wife at the start of the Mayor’s speech and said, “I remember the last time I went to a high school graduation – Buffy’s – and the Mayor spoke there, too.”

“Boring?” Nina asked, petting her husband’s arm in sympathy.

“Um, if you call a solar eclipse, the Mayor turning into a giant snake demon , a vampire attack and the blowing up of the high school boring, then yeah… same old, same old.”

“It’s really not smart to tease the werewolf so close to a full moon, Angel.” Nina’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she smiled at Angel’s tales of yore.

“It’s the truth, honey,” Angel insisted. “My unlife has always been a bit ‘lively’.”

“Then let’s hope for a little boredom today,” she replied, smiling warmly.

“This is boring, for sure,” said Alonna. “Speech, speech, after boring speech. When is Will gonna get his diploma?”

“That’s enough out of you, young lady,” Gunn admonished his eldest daughter. “Next year we’ll all be sitting in these same seats, waiting for you.”

“Well, then it won’t be boring for me, will it?”

“Since when did you grow up to be such a smarty-pants, young lady?” Anne said with a laugh. “You never used to talk back to your father.”

“Not when you were listening,” Benjamin snorted.

Alonna shoved at her younger brother. “Thanks, bro. Always knew you had my back… not.”

Carolyn Jane said nothing, just fidgeted in her chair, waiting for all this to be over so they could all go out to eat. She was looking forward to the prospect of dinner without washing dishes afterwards.

Lorne just sat back and soaked in the ambiance. _This_ was more than he ever dared hope for. Reconnecting with old friends – people he’d gone to hell and back for – with nary a trace of the old baggage and tensions weighing any of them down. Not only were they all family, they each had their own family; a spouse and children to protect and nurture. And in his heart, Lorne accepted them all as _his_ family. Maybe not blood of his blood, but definitely of his soul.

He never felt more human than he did at that moment.

One speech blurred into another until the principal took the stage again. “Our commencement ceremonies are drawing to a close, and before our students parade across out stage for the last time to collect their diplomas, I’d like to introduce the 2021 Class Valedictorian, Miss Camilla Bowen.”

A polite round of applause preceded the happy hoots and whistles from her fellow classmates, as Camilla took center stage.

“Honored guests, parents, teachers and fellow students, welcome to Chelsea Clinton High School’s graduating class of 2021. What can I say to sum up the last four years of our lives? Simply put, I quote, _“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. ”_

“It really does explain a lot about high school life and teenagers. We experience things full measure – nothing affects us halfway, be it the epiphanies revealed in a classroom discussion or the relationships we form. We tend to see things in black and white, but are beginning to accept that there are shades of grey.”

“As we exit the doors of this institution, we have our entire futures ahead of us. There are those goals that we’ve set for ourselves, some of which have been achieved, some of which will be achieved in the future, and those of which will change as time and circumstances modify our lives. Our actual achievements, however, are not as important as the fact that we _strive_ to achieve, for we are the future of this world. To blindly follow along in our parents’ footsteps is to stall progress. We must put forth our best efforts in spite of the adversity we are sure to face, for surely our paths will not be smoothly paved.”

“One thing I know for sure, is that nothing is written in stone. Reach for the stars, but if you fall short, find a bright spot wherever you land. Be grateful for the people who’ve influenced your lives so far, and consider paying it forward to the generations coming after you. We can do great things, large and small – we just have to try. Thank you for listening, everyone!” Camilla Bowen bowed, clearly enjoying the massive applause and waved to her fellow students before stepping back, allowing the principal the spotlight once again.

A table was rolled in with the scrolled diplomas, each tied with a navy ribbon. The orchestra once again began to play Pomp and Circumstance very quietly, so the students’ names could be heard as they were called. Row by row, the seated students stood and faced the aisle to their right. As their names were called, each student ascended the stairs to the stage, accepted their diploma from the principal, shook her hand, and walked back to their seats.

Buffy sat on the edge of the stage, eyes shining brightly. As Will passed by, she managed to catch his eye and blew him a kiss. He winked, standing a little straighter as he passed by and walked off the stage.

After the last diploma was given out, and the student returned to his seat, the principal turned to the audience and said, “Congratulations, graduates of the class of 2021!”

A great roar of approval rang out through the auditorium as the graduates flipped their tassel from one side of their mortarboard to the other. Many were tossed in the air in an exuberant display, to the orchestra’s raucous rendition of Alice Cooper’s [“School’s Out”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qga5eONXU_4) for their Recessional.

“Finally,” sighed Alonna, standing and stretching her cramped legs. “Could they have dragged it out any longer?”

“Honestly, Alonna, it wasn’t so bad,” Nina said, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Aren’t you happy for Will?”

“Of course I am, Aunt Nina,” Alonna replied. “But now that this is over, we can get to the restaurant and really celebrate with him.”

“Hungry, baby?” Gunn asked, knowing his daughter’s appetite, and fondness, for Italian food.

“Well, duh,” she said, having the good grace to blush. “And you know that Will’s looking forward to ordering his favorite meal, too.”

Angel laughed. The girl was right – there would be no hesitation in giving the waiter Will’s order. “All right, you guys. Let’s head for the parking lot. We’ll give the graduate time to take pictures with his friends, and he’ll meet us by the car.”

Standing in the school’s doorway, Buffy watched wistfully as friends and family filed out to the parking lot. Dawn, Connor and little Liam, Charlotte, Hugh and Bethany, Gunn, Anne and their brood, Angel, Nina and Lorne. So much time had passed since she’d been statuefied… people going on with their lives, growing up and growing older. She wondered if this is what Spike and Angel felt like as everyone aged around them and they remained unchanged.

She laughed bitterly at that. Unchanged. Once again, Spike had done the unexpected and totally changed. Not only becoming human, but becoming a human infant given the chance to grow up all over again. And here she was, stuck at age twenty five for the past seventeen years, though Illyria was prone to de-aging her when she appeared before Will.

With a sigh, Buffy watched as Will met up with everyone, smiling and happy as they all got into their cars and headed out for a family celebration. Would that she could join them all. Since it was not to be, Buffy hoped she’d be able to spend some alone time with Will this evening. All she knew was her freedom couldn’t come soon enough.


	60. Growing Old - Growing Close

**June 2021**

Nina’a knees turned wobbly and she had to sit on her bed. “That’s amazing, Jill. A baby? Our little Amanda is going to be a mother?” She smiled warmly at the thought, even though it only seemed like days ago when her niece took her first steps and said her first words. When Nina taught her how to make her first clay candy dish, draw her first flower. And now…

Time was moving on. Her Will had graduated high school, and every morning Nina found more grey in her hair and the crows’ feet surrounding her eyes had deepened. It didn’t matter that they mostly came from laughter and joy rather than frowns, they still meant something undeniably true… she was noticeably aging.

And now Amanda was going to have a baby of her own, and all she could think about was her own little one, getting in his car, packing up his belongings and heading off to a college dorm. Hadn’t it been only yesterday when Angel asked her to marry him? When she officially adopted Will and became his mother, becoming one of a small family of her own?

And yet, there stood Angel, still as handsome as the day they’d met, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t aged a day in the past seventeen years.

Jill once said that she felt sorry for her, for never having a biological child of her own. Nina had been dumbfounded, wondering how her sister couldn’t see what she felt. Of course she had a son of her own. William was as much hers as he was Angel’s. _Her_ son. _Her_ little boy, who had grown into a decent, handsome young man.

And of course there was Connor, who’d found his way into her heart, and via Connor, there was Dawn, and now Liam. They were _hers_ \- children and grandchild in essence if not in blood. Were they any less hers by virtue of not birthing them? No sir! She couldn’t bring herself to believe that. Not in the slightest.

Nina bade Jill goodbye and put down the phone, looking around her room, mentally reviewing her home, her family, their extraordinary lives; a son born of two vampires, a billions of years old ball of energy for a daughter-in-law, an ex-vampire turned human hybrid for a son, a vampire for a husband, and herself – a werewolf. She thought of all the empty rooms in the Hyperion full of unfulfilled promises.

What would her life had been like if she’d not taken a walk _that_ night and been attacked by a werewolf? Would she eventually have found another man to love, and to love her in return? Would she have had biological children? Would her chosen career have taken off and she become an artist of some renown? Nina shook her head. When she compared what might have been to what _had_ actually happened, she couldn’t bring herself to regret one, single thing.

She couldn’t imagine a life without Angel, even as she feared for him the older she turned. What would it be like for him when she was an elderly woman and their children’s children had children and Angel would still look the handsome youth? Would _he_ regret tying himself to her? Would he be content to even stay with an old woman who inevitably edged closer and closer to leaving him behind? Nina wished she could spare him the pain.

Within weeks they would be driving William to college. The boy… young man would surely complain about the two of them fussing like mother hens over him. He was going to say he wasn’t a little kid anymore. But who could blame her? To her, in many ways he was still that little boy with the dazzling smile when she picked him up and held him in her arms. And no matter how hard she tried, she would never forget the empty hole in her life when William was kidnapped, or the traumatized youngster that Angel brought back from England. How in the world could she be expected to just ‘let go’ now, when the last time they were parted, it nearly destroyed them all?

In her rational mind, Nina knew the situations were diametrically different. Will wasn’t being taken from her – he was leaving on his own for life’s grand adventure. And he’d be back often – for holidays and vacations, not to mention phone calls and emails. It was what came next that left her shaky; when he graduated college, met a girl and fell in love. Married. Started a family of his own like Amanda. Surely Jill felt all these same insecurities, too. Yet, she managed to let her daughter fly, and Nina supposed she would have to do the same for Will when the time came.

It was hard to think about, but it was something she’d have to come to grips with, because she was his mother, and a mother only wanted her children to be happy. Keeping him tied to her apron strings would not be conducive to his happiness in the slightest.

And if she found herself in need of a little lift? She could always attack that hidden box of Russell Stover Mint Dreams she kept hidden in the bedroom closet. Nina kept them as fiercely guarded as any wolf protecting her cubs. Nobody comes between a stressed out woman and her chocolates.

She sensed him at the door, a quiet sentinel. When she looked up, Angel walked in, slung an arm around her shoulders and shepherded her towards their bed. “I love you,” he murmured into the crook of her neck, nuzzling that tender spot behind her ear.

Nina wanted to go with the sensation and make love with her husband, but the niggling doubt still remained and she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Was he truly in love with her, or had she become nothing more than a duty to attend to?

A sharp nip over her pulse point brought her attention into focus. “You’re thinking too much,” Angel said, brushing her hair away from her face.

Looking deeply into his eyes, Nina could see the love clearly shining there for her. She’d been foolish to doubt him. She fell into his embrace and luxuriated in the feel of his hands through her hair. He pulled it free of it’s restraint and let the strands flow between his fingers.

“I remember this grey hair,” he said, separating a single strand from the rest. You got it the day Will learned to ride a two wheeler and scraped his knees raw the first time he fell. And _this_ one when he broke his curfew and came home over an hour and a half late without calling.”

“Angel…”

“I love the way our laughter lines the corners of your beautiful eyes… the way I can see how our life together has made you more beautiful with every passing day. Every day I love you more than the one before. Each moment that goes by marks the changes in you… our influence on you. My one regret, my _only_ regret is that I can’t mirror the same changes for you.”

Nina tenderly cupped his face with her hands, staring into eyes that showed all these same things… the only part of him that seemed to have aged along with her. “Listen to you,” she said, a soft smile gracing her lips. “When did you get so verbose?”

Angel ducked his head and returned her smile. “I can’t help it, sweet one. You seem to bring out the best in me. When I was with Darla, I was soulless, and thoughts of love were not uppermost on my mind. When I was with Buffy, well, for all I thought it was perfect, in the end, it just wasn’t the right fit for me. Cordelia was closer, but the fantasy of growing older with any of them was a fantasy. What I have with you, it’s a lifetime… a total commitment, and I’m planning to cling to it to your very last breath and beyond – until the day I fade into dust.”

“But what about…?”

“Until I’m dust, Nina. Do you think I’ll turn to another young woman who’d never be able to see the real me? Why would I want someone who isn’t you? I… I love you, sweetheart. I don’t tell you that nearly as often as I should.”

“Angel!” Really, the man was starting to sound like a lovesick teenager.

“I love you.”

Nina tried to shush him with a kiss, but he kept repeating the phrase – over and over he told her he loved her and kissed her in-between the words, until they both collapsed into giggles on the bed, so involved with each other that they didn’t sense the door opening and William streaking back out in record time, shutting the door behind his hasty exit.

Why should anyone pity her? She thought her life was absolutely perfect.


	61. Hope for the Future

**August 2021**

Dawn awoke from a dead sleep to the techno strains of _Freebird_ blaring from her phone. She hurriedly scrambled out of bed and snagged the phone, hoping it wouldn’t wake either Liam or Connor.

“This had better be an apocolypsey situation, Giles,” Dawn yawned into the phone.

“Would some news regarding your sister’s situation be acceptable, instead?” Giles queried.

At that, Dawn sat bolt upright and shoved hard at Connor’s shoulder. “Get up,” she hissed. “Giles has news about Buffy!”

“Mphr,” Connor mumbled and turned over, pulling the blanket over his head.

A good, swift kick from his wife left him sprawled on the floor. “All right, all right. I’m up,” he said, grumpily.

“I’m putting you on speakerphone, Giles.” Dawn set the phone on her nightstand, and grabbed for Connor’s hands.

“We’ve just had a message from Willow,” Giles began, the rustle of papers was heard through the phone’s speaker. “During one of their forays through The Library’s aisles, she and Thespia found a missive from The Immortal.”

“What did that scumbag do now?” Dawn spat. “Gloat some more?”

“It seems The Immortal has finally ended his little tantrum and amended his spell on Buffy. It appears her – er – sentence has been adjusted, from eternal imprisonment. Eventually she will be free – but there is no mention of when that will be. We’ve verified his signature – it’s well and truly his.”

“But that’s not fair!” Dawn practically wailed, hastily covering her mouth with her hands and praying she’d not awoken Liam. Blessedly, he remained silent. “All the research we’ve put into freeing her was for nothing… and we still don’t know when she’ll be free. We could all be dead by then!”

“Nothing about this situation is fair, Dawn,” Giles agreed. “However, this is our first sign of hope in seventeen years.”

“So what do we do now? Abandon all research because she’ll eventually snap out of it?”

Giles paused, the glasses cleaning was assumed. “Lydia and I will continue to search for The Immortal, to see if we can pin him down to an approximate date. I-I truly don’t know what good additional research will do, inasmuch as it’s all been for naught so far.”

Dawn bit at her lower lip, her brow furrowed in frustration. “Fine… let’s say Hugh and I let this go for now, and you better believe that it’s killing me to say so. What else is on the Council’s agenda? There has to be _something_ to do… some new project.”

“There actually is,” Giles murmured. “We have decided after all this time to pursue the idea of bringing in the peaceful demon species to our service, and working with them to maintain the common good of all involved. Angel has also mentioned that an anagogic demon had been young Will’s counselor for these past years. Perhaps one of you would approach him with an offer?”

“Do you honestly think Lorne will be prepared to join an agency that nearly destroyed Will?”

“That’s not exactly right, Dawn,” Giles chided. “You know how drastically things have changed… the turnover in personnel alone, not to mention my much more active role in running the Council.”

“And you did re-establish ties with Hugh,” Dawn allowed. “It has made a huge difference in his self-esteem. It’s been hard trying to live down the atrocity his elder brother had been a part of.”

“Speaking of your Mr. Chalmers… do you think he would mind if we solicited his wife, as well?”

“Charlotte? What would the Watcher’s Council need with an outside lawyer?” Dawn’s curiosity was piqued.

“I believe that demon/human collaborations would be smoother if we had an outsider dealing with the legalities.”

Dawn nodded, and then realized Giles couldn’t possibly see her. “This I can do. Charlotte and I usually see eye-to-eye about helping those in need. Oh!” she exclaimed, as an idea formed. “What if we ask Lorne and Charlotte if they’d be willing to work together – to help Charlotte familiarize herself with different species of demons?”

“That’s very good,” was Giles’ reply. “This way any faux pas between species should be few and far between.”

“I agree.”

The sudden intrusion of Liam’s demanding cries put a stop to all conversation momentarily, as Dawn was torn between going for her son and finishing her discussion with Giles. The problem was solved when Connor motioned that he’d go. Liam’d been suffering from bouts of night terrors recently, and Connor was very good in calming the boy down.

“Is everything all right, Dawn?” Giles asked, concerned for her child.

“Yeah. Connor went to check on Liam, so I have a few more minutes before going to check on him myself.”

“We are putting together a list of demons known to be peaceful, and will draft an agreement for those that wish to associate with the Council. My secretary will fax it to you within the next day or so.”

“What’s the matter, Giles?” Dawn laughed. “Still afraid of ‘the box’?”

“Very funny, Mrs. Dowell. It’s not nice to make fun of your elders. And for some reason, I feel I need to justify paying the dear woman by actually assigning her tasks to do.”

Ten minutes had passed and Connor had not returned to their bedroom. Dawn needed to see her boy. “Giles… there’s nothing more that can be done tonight. I want to go check on my son and try to get a few more hours of sleep. I’ll talk with Hugh and Charlotte in the morning. Hopefully you’ll have more details on The Immortal’s letter regarding Buffy’s freedom. Thanks… thanks so much for the news, such as it is.”

“You’re welcome, Dawn. Kiss the little one for me, and we’ll talk later. Goodnight, dear.”

“Night!”


	62. Memories

**Fall 2021**

Fuck! The grip of her… the heat of her! So very unexpected, but oh! Someone must be listening to the prayers of bad little vampires. He always knew fighting made her as hot as it made him, but he never thought she’d admit it, much less act on it. Yet here they were, he flexing his leg muscles as he met her thrust for thrust against the hard edges of the broken plasterboard at his back. He was afraid to say anything which might stop her. Damn if the girl didn’t fuck like she fought – all concentrated on her task. Buffy’s green eyes were boring straight into his.

He found himself being propelled forward, unsure if he or she had precipitated the movement, but they hit a spot in the floor, and, still going at it, crashed through the rotting floorboards. Spike managed to flip their bodies in the air, so when they landed, he hit first. And bugger it all… she just kept on riding him as if they were on the softest featherbed.

The feeling was just too good to last, and Spike felt his body spiraling into one hell of an orgasm. Determined to bring Buffy along with him, he sped up his thrusts as his fingers sought her clit. Just as her body began to spasm around him and his control fled, Spike saw the oddest thing… another Buffy standing amidst the rubble, staring with shock. Too late to process anything, Spike gave himself in to the sensations of his glorious shag and… awoke with a shout. It took a few moments for his mind to clear, before Will realized he was in his dorm, and his roommate, Marcus, was sitting up in bed, looking startled from his slumber.

“You okay, man? Sounded like something took a bite out of your ass, the way you screamed.”

“I-I’m fine,” Will stammered. “Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep, Marcus. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you need some help, Will. This is the third time this week you’ve woke me up with your dreams.”

“Help,” Will murmured. “Yeah, I gotta talk with someone about this,” he said, gathering his blanket and sheet and tossing them in the hamper. Good thing Mom packed spares.

***

Will sighed with relief as his brother crested the small hill on campus and headed towards his bench. “Thanks for coming, man. I couldn’t talk about this over the phone.”

“So what’s the matter, bro? You made it sound urgent.” Connor quickly gave him the once over from top to bottom. “You look fine. Are you sick?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘sick’. I’ve been having… dreams”

“Dreams? Or nightmares?” Connor asked.

Scratching the back of his neck, Will tried to come up with the proper words to explain. “I-I’ve been having these dreams…”

Connor smiled. “The dreams where you wake up sticky? I thought you had this discussion years ago, with Dad.”

Will blushed scarlet to the tips of his ears. “If it was as simple as a wet dream, do you think I’d call you?” he asked. “I’m not an utter moron, ya know.”

“Chill, dude! I know, I know. So… what’s the deal?”

“These dreams… they’re more like memories,” Will began, shifting uncomfortably on the stone bench. “It’s just they’re not _my_ memories. They’re Spike’s – of Buffy!”

“Whoa! Are you sure you don’t just have an overly vivid imagination? I know how you feel about this Buffy…”

“Damn it, Connor, I know what I saw… what I felt. I’ve never… not with anyone… especially not with Buffy, but I can tell you exactly how hot and tight she feels around me, and what spot on her body drives her to distraction. Trust me, what I had was a visceral memory, not wishful dreaming.”

“Huh! Well, now I know why you didn’t call Dad. You getting the full Technicolor experience of his ex-girlfriend? Talk about awkward.”

“No shit, Sherlock. And it gets worse,” Will added, scuffing his shoe into the ground. “In the middle of all this, Buffy… _my_ Buffy… showed up. She vanished before I could say anything, and I haven’t been able to contact her since.”

“So what do you want to do about this?”

“I’m scared, Connor,” Will admitted to his older brother. “If Spike’s memories are coming back, does that mean I’ll eventually turn into Spike? I mean, I know I used to be him. Once. But I’m me now. Will. Am I going to lose who I am? To be _him_ again? Do I get a choice here?”

“Hmmm, perhaps…” said Connor, thoughtfully scratching his fingers through his well-trimmed beard, “the best person for you to run this through would be Lorne. You guys have a great relationship. So… who’s the best guy to take your fears to than the green man, himself?”

“No!” Will shouted, drawing the attention of the passersby. “No,” he repeated quietly. “What I told Lorne in confidence about my feelings for Buffy before I knew about his past was bad enough. Now that I know how close he and Dad are, there is no way I can go to him with this.”

“Okay, bro,” Connor placated. “No Lorne. The only thing I can think of is talking with your Aunt Dawn. Not about the content of your dream,” he said at Will’s aghast expression. “It’s just there are two ways to attack this thing. One, if there’s anyone who knows Buffy, it’s her, and can try and figure out how her sister is feeling right now, and two, she can do some research on… on… possession, or previous lives, or something that pertains to your history. You are rather unique, so I don’t know how much she’ll have to go on.”

“I’ll talk to her, as long as you broach the subject,” Will agreed. “But for God’s sake, be discreet. Dad can’t find out about this.”

“There are places your aunt and I go where our father doesn’t. Don’t worry, Will. We’ll keep this quiet. You have my promise.” Connor slapped him on the back, then stood and stretched. “You’ll be hearing from Dawn soon.”

***

Dawn got back to Will much sooner than he expected – she called him the next day, and drove up the day after, leaving Liam at home so they wouldn’t be distracted.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” She greeted him with a warm hug and linked her arm through his. “Connor tells me my favorite vampire is poking his head into your business. And that it worries you.”

“He didn’t tell you what it was about?”

“I’m guessing it had something to do with my sister, judging from the blush on your face.”

“Okay, then.” Will wished he wasn’t so fair skinned. His emotions showed bright and hot.

“Don’t worry about it, Will,” Dawn laughed. “You forget, I lived through some of the Spike years. There wasn’t an innuendo he didn’t take advantage of no matter who was in the room. As for Buffy’s sex life… well, it seemed to be public knowledge amongst her friends… as if they had the right to make her choices for her. I heard more than I’ve ever let on.”

“It’s still embarrassing,” Will insisted. “It’s like this: I’m a mostly normal guy with normal urges. It’s just there’s nobody on this earth that’s right for me but Buffy. I’ve felt her _here_ ,” he said, striking his chest over his heart. “I’ve known her all of my life, even if she’s not actually here with us. And then I experience this major sex-fest with her; sounds, smells, feelings. It has to be Spike’s memories. And if this one came back, will there be others? And if they all come back, will I be Spike, and not Will anymore?”

Dawn stopped, enfolding him in her arms. “I know you’re scared, Will. I understand,” she said, running her fingers through his curls. “I even called Grandpa Giles, and we both researched forms of possession, but they don’t really fit your situation. You’re not possessed by a foreign entity, you’re getting memories from yourself… your past self.”

“Not quite an answer to my questions, is it?”

“No, not really,” Dawn admitted. “There have been instances where people have recalled their past lives, but that doesn’t quite fit you, either. You and Spike share exactly the same DNA, not to mention the teensy little detail of a demon. I wish I had something definitive to tell you, Will.”

“I guess I’ll have to call Lorne, after all, and see if he can make some time for me. Makes as much sense to talk with him as anyone else.” Will sighed, shoulders slumped.

Dawn looked at the teen, taking in his defeated posture. “Okay… what else is bothering you?”

“Buffy.”

“What’s my sister done now?”

“Nothing.”

A well-sculpted eyebrow raised high enough to show that she didn’t believe him.

“Fine,” he grit out between clenched teeth. “She’s been avoiding me.”

“Are you sure she’s doing it deliberately? She’s disappeared from time to time involuntarily.”

“Oh, I know,” Will insisted. “I can feel her on the periphery of my senses. She’s around, but she’s not making contact. I need to explain what she saw, and find out what she wanted.”

“One thing you need to know about Buffy is that she’s a prude. Not in what she does, but in what she shows the world.” Dawn laughed at the memories of Buffy trying to be proper and her body betraying her… first with Angel, then Riley. Never with Spike, but for the covert looks when she thought nobody else was watching.

“If I were home, I’d go up to her room. I usually have better luck there than anywhere else when she’s been missing. This time I’m sure she’s staying away on purpose.”

“Hmmm,” said Dawn, looking thoughtful. “Have you ever tried meditating to call her to you? When Buffy needed to focus, your Grandpa used to give her a quartz crystal with a flaw in it to help clear her mind. Perhaps if you had a focal point of your own…”

Will nodded. “I can talk with someone in the Geology Department. I’m sure they have a hunk of quartz I can borrow. It’s worth a try, Aunt Dawn. I hate when she’s mad at me.”

With a shiver, Dawn nodded. “Buffy in a snit is definitely a force to be reckoned with,” she said, patting Will on the shoulder. “Try the meditation thing. At the very least you’ll be calmer when you’re finished.”

***

Several hours later found Will anything but calm. Borrowing a piece of quartz had been easy enough, but the only things the intense concentration left him with were sweaty pits and a massive headache. Even the hint of Buffy he’d had earlier in the day had disappeared.

In disgust, he shoved the stone aside and grabbed his soap and shampoo for a shower. For a change he didn’t have to wait in line and indulged himself in the steaming hot water. The heat gradually burned his frustration down to a simmer, and lowered his headache to a dull roar.

Noting that Marcus was out of the room, Will popped a few ibuprofen, stripped and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over his head. Within moments, the darkness of his little enclosure lulled him into sleep.

Will awoke to the chirping of birds, and the smell of grass. Though it had been years, he immediately recognized Illyria’s meadow. The statue of the God King was practically perfect; gleaming marble with only the odd crack to mar its surface. The reflecting pool sparkled brightly in the sunshine.

He spied Buffy beneath a copse of trees not far from where they’d picnicked when he was younger. Her head was down, and her posture was defeated. “What do you want, Will?” she sighed as he approached.

“At the very least I want an explanation,” he said.

“For what?”

“This is the first time in my life that you’ve deliberately kept yourself from me. And let’s not forget,” he added, “that you’re the one who popped into my head. It’s not like I called you in for an evening of porn.”

Buffy’s head dropped even further towards her chest, and as angry as Will was, he felt the need to reach out and comfort her. Unfortunately, she flinched at his touch, and that stoked his anger even higher.

“Look at me, god damn it!” Will yelled in frustration. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

When Buffy finally turned to face him, she had tears in her eyes. “That’s the whole thing, Will,” she murmured, tears trailing down her cheeks. “ _I_ am wrong. Wrong for you, and I’ve been ruining your life.”

“Are you crazy?” Will couldn’t believe his ears. He’d loved Buffy beyond reason since he was an infant, before he knew what love was, and now she was telling him… what, exactly?

“You’re so young, Will. So very young, with your whole life ahead of you. You should be dating girls your own age, thinking of marriage and babies. Instead, you live like a monk, in hopes I’ll get to be with you. What if your whole life passes you by? You’ll be nothing but a bitter, lonely old man of eighty, and I’ll still be statufied. Or I’ll finally be freed and the age difference will be too great in the opposite direction.”

Will just sat with his mouth agape, unable to form words to refute her claims. And still, she continued.

“As of now, I’m way too old for you. I might look like a teenager, but that’s thanks to Illyria. I was already twenty five when I was imprisoned. Add the past seventeen years of your life, and that makes me forty two years old!! It won’t work. _We_ won’t work.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Will stood, looking down on Buffy. “Do you really think pulling the age card on me is gonna fly?” he asked, incredulous. Let’s start with the part of me that was born in eighteen fifty four. Trust me, Buffy, that makes me way older than you. As for living like a monk? Hardly. I go to college, I play my guitar in a band, I have friends… if I choose not to take a girlfriend, it’s because I have faith that we’ll be together sooner than later. And what gives you the right to decide what’s good for me? You’re not my mother.”

Buffy stiffened at those words. She’d used them often enough with her friends and Angel when it came to making decisions on her behalf.

“Hit a nerve, did I?”

“I don’t want to use you,” Buffy whispered. “Not again.”

Will’s expression softened as he sat beside her on the grass. “Do you really think you’re making me do anything I don’t want to do, Buffy?” He gently cupped her chin, drawing her face closer to his. “I _know_ we’re meant to be together. I can _feel_ it in my heart; in my soul. I have faith that you’ll be free sooner than later, and we’ll have a long and happy life ahead of us.”

“Geeze, you don’t expect much out of life, do you?”

“I had everything when I was a kid, you know? Loving parents, extended family, friends… and I had it all taken away in less than a handful of minutes.” A sadness passed over Will’s face as he remembered his kidnapping. “I got lucky, though. You got me through the worst of it, and I got rescued by Dad and Connor. Once I got my head straight, I swore to myself that nobody would stop me from having what I wanted. I wanted you then, and I want you now, Buffy… if you’ll have me.”

Despite her misgivings, Will’s pretty words swayed her as their lips connected, and a tender kiss turned passionate. Will dominated the kiss from start to finish. He wasn’t going to let Buffy go without a battle. By the time he released her from his embrace, he’d proven that he was a child no longer. Perhaps not a full grown man, but well on his way.

Buffy’s eyes were slightly glazed and she looked at Will with a newfound respect.

“Promise me you’ll never stay away from me willingly again, please?” Will begged, his heart in his eyes for all the world to see.

“I promise,” Buffy swore. “And if I have doubts we’ll discuss them. Like two adults.”

Will gathered her into a tight hug, feeling the prickly sensation that heralded his awakening. “I love you, Buffy. Never forget how much I love you.”

“I love you too, Will,” were the last words he heard as the world faded to black.

Will startled awake in his dorm room, a good deal happier than when he went to sleep. It was all going to work out. He was sure of it.


	63. Eighteen!

**June 2022**

The teetering pile of books and papers on his desk threatened his laptop, but Will deftly rescued it as he spoke. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, jamming the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “I’m glad you and Dad understand that I want to celebrate my eighteenth birthday with my friends.”

“We were young once,” Nina replied, laughing. “Well, I was young a lot more recently than your father, but you know what I mean. We can always celebrate with the family when you come home on the weekend.”

Will nodded, then realized his mother couldn’t see him. “Sounds great. Can you get me…”

“Yes, my dear. We’ll pick up your devil’s food cake with canolli cream filling.”

“You think you know me so well, Mother.”

“I can come pretty close, kiddo… especially when it has to do with your stomach!”

“True, true,” said Will. “Still, better safe than do without all that lusciousness.”

“Have a wonderful birthday, sweetheart. Just remember, when you go out this evening, be careful. After all… you’re still not legal to drink.”

“Mo-om!”

“I know, I know. You’re all grown up and don’t need your mother to baby you.” Nina sniffed a little. “You might be turning eighteen, but no way does that stop me from worrying about you.”

“At least you don’t insist I wear overalls and a bib anymore,” Will snorted.

“But you looked so cute!”

“Do I need to hang up on you?”

“You wouldn’t dare, young man. Besides,” Nina added, “your father wants to say a few words.”

“Hey, son – Happy Birthday!” Angel’s voice rumbled through the speaker.

“Thanks, Dad. Tell Mom not to worry. I’m just going out with a few friends this evening… nothing dangerous, I promise. Some music, some dancing, yummy food… that about sums it up.”

“You know it’s just because we love you, right?”

“Yeah, Dad. I love you both, too. I promise I’ll be careful. What could happen at _Pearl_? It’s a dance club.”

“Bite your tongue, boy,” Angel growled. “Never, ever jinx yourself like that.”

Will rolled his eyes, made his goodbyes and ended the call just as Marcus walked in.

“C’mon, Dowell, you’re not even dressed yet and everyone is waiting for you downstairs.” Marcus drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. “You’re not getting any younger, you know?”

With a grunt, Will stripped off his tee shirt and replaced it with a button-down. He grabbed his guitar case from its corner. “Let’s roll, then.”

“Happy birthday, Will.” Teri Gardner greeted him with a quick kiss on the cheek. The little redhead was lead singer in their band and had a slight crush on him.

“Thanks, Ter,” he replied with a swift hug. “You in good voice tonight?”

She nodded, blushing slightly.

“I wouldn’t worry about Teri, Dowell,” came from Ellis Finch, their base player. “Think you can remember the notes at your advanced age?”

“Funny, El. Funny… considering you’re older than me.”

“By all of three weeks,” said Ellis, affronted.

“C’mon, you guys,” Teri tried being the peacemaker. “The sooner we get downstairs, the sooner we get to party. Ffion and Andy are waiting in the car with the instruments.”

“Girl’s got a point,” said Ellis. “Pearl’s amateur night waits for no band, and we don’t want folks to be too hammered to hear us by the time we get there.”

They arrived at the dance club’s back entrance and unloaded their digital drums and keyboard, and along with Will’s guitar, put them in the back room until it was time for their set.

A small group of friends greeted them at one of the tables close to the stage. Will received birthday wishes and pats on the back, and was offered mug after mug of beer to toast his legality, all of which he refused.

“Legal to vote, yes,” Will agreed, “but not to drink. Besides, I’m giddy enough to be playing for a live audience of more than our college friends and I want to be on my game, not buzzed.”

“Told you,” said Marcus. “Only eighteen for a couple of hours and already he’s turned into a stodgy old man.”

Will just smiled and motioned over the waitress. “Spicy buffalo wings and a fried onion blossom with extra sauce, please.” He rubbed his hands together and licked his lips in anticipation, being inordinately fond of the fried snack. “Nothing like a little heat to awaken the taste buds.”

The rest of the table placed their orders and settled back for an evening of good friends, and good music. Andy went to the bar, being the only one with a valid ID, and came back with a tray of mixed drinks and a Coke for Will.

Ellis raised his glass and commanded attention. “Here’s to the birthday boy – eighteen at last. May he finally loosen up and get laid!”

“Hear, hear!” his friends echoed, clinking their glasses together. Will added his glass to the toast, and shook his head in mock dismay. Sometimes he wondered why he put up with this bunch in the first place.

The food arrived and they all tucked into their choices. Will’s eyes grew teary. The wings were just the way he liked them – fire-starter hot. He grabbed his Coke and downed half the glass, thanks to the heat in his mouth. The happy banter between the tables made him smile.

One of the bartenders, backed up by another of the many bands playing at the Pearl tonight, brought forth a birthday cake lined with candles and a stack of plates and serenaded Will with a raucous rendition of _Happy Birthday_.

Will, of course, blushed bright pink to the tips of his ears.

“You are just the cutest thing!” Teri squealed as she pinched his cheeks.

“I do my best,” Will muttered. “Now, can we please focus on the nummy-looking cake and let me fade into the chair?”

“Not on your life,” Andy guffawed, thumping Will on the back. “Birthdays are for celebrating and we’re not gonna let you hide. Not tonight, anyway.”

After the latest group had finished their set, the host took the stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s hear it for the Currants! They’ll be back next week. After a short break, Pearl is premiering a brand new band – Salvo!”

A polite smattering of applause made Will smile, and he and his friends quickly finished their cake, then headed backstage to set up their instruments.

“All right, everyone,” the host yelled into his mic. “Let’s give it up for Salvo!

Andy made with the introductions. “On the electric guitar, we have the birthday boy, William Dowell! On keyboard… Ffion Martens! On bass… Ellis Johnson! Our lead singer… Teri Gardner! And me, Andy Perkins, on the digital drums! We’re Salvo, and we hope you enjoy our band.”

Will took a deep breath and looked out into the audience as he strummed his first notes. He spotted Buffy in the middle of the floor, dancing to the music. _Gods, the way she moved her body!_ He quickly looked back at his guitar, worried about the distraction she presented, but couldn’t help stealing glances. She was _happy_ and looked very much in her element. If only she weren’t still a ghost, Will could almost believe they were here on a date.

Buffy looked at him, flashing a perfect smile and twirled. It warmed Will’s heart… and apparently other parts as well. He was beginning to sweat. Probably just nerves, he guessed, and the stage lights. This was Salvo’s maiden voyage outside of friends and school. Still, he felt a little light-headed and couldn’t wait for the set to be over so he could get something to drink.

Their music was well received; pretty much just covers of popular songs. Soon, Will promised himself, he’d get up the courage to play his own songs. Salvo left the stage to a nice round of applause, and Andy went to the bar for a fresh round of drinks.

“Oh thank the gods!” Will exclaimed, grabbing his Coke from the serving tray and downing it in one go. “I sweat like a pig onstage.”

“Now that’s attractive, Will,” laughed Ffion. “No wonder you have the girls hanging all over you.”

He answered with a quick middle finger before excusing himself. “Be right back, you guys. Urgent business in the men’s room.” He stood up, and scanned the room. He felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl, like someone was watching him, but he shook it off after searching the club, dismissing it with a shake of his head.

“You okay there, kiddo?” asked Marcus.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Will said, heading for the men’s room. Be back soon, guys.”

“I wonder what that was all about,” Terry mused. “It’s not like Will had anything to drink but Coke.”

“Guy’s just a little paranoid,” Ellis snorted loudly. “Imagine worrying about groupies after our first public performance.”

Ffion rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease. Will’s not that egotistical. He’s just a bit… careful.”

“Hasn’t he been gone a long time?” Teri asked after a third song finished to mild applause. “I mean Pearl isn’t that big a place, and guys don’t usually have lines to wait on like we do in the ladies room.”

“Who are you, his mother?”Andy laughed, slapping the table and jostling the drinks. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you go and personally escort him back to his seat?”

Teri frowned, her worry creasing her brow. “Don’t you think one of _you guys_ ” should go and check on him?” she empathized, making shooing motions with her hands. 

“I’ll go.” Ellis stood, pushing his chair under the table. “Anything to make Teri happy.”  
Will looked up as Ellis entered the men’s room. He was supporting himself against the sink, his hair dripping wet.

“You look like shit, man,” said Ellis, coming to his friend’s side. “Are you okay?”

“Dumped my head in the sink,” Will said. “The room was boiling.”

“You are so gonna need to settle those nerves if you plan on performing, like… in front of people.”

“I thought I was fine. I didn’t really feel nervous or anything, just overheated, and I’m definitely getting a major headache.”

Ellis looked Will up and down. “You okay to go back to the table, or do you need to go to the dorm?”

“M’fine, really,” Will sighed as he pushed off from the sink. “I’m glad Salvo already performed… right now I feel wiped.”

Ellis helped Will towel-blot his hair and steered him back to their table.

“Oh my god, Will. You look like a drowned cat!” Teri was at his side, immediately. “Do you need anything? Want anything?”

“Sorry, bud,” Andy said, patting Will’s arm. “I guess the lights were a bit too intense for ya.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” Will insisted. “Just need to sit still for a bit… rest my eyes. Go, dance and have fun. I’m good.”

“Be right back, you guys.” Ellis stood, pushing his chair under the table. “Seems as if I need to water a few flowers, myself.”

“As long as you don’t mind, I do feel like a little dancing,” said Ffion, grabbing Teri’s hand. “You, too, Andy. Time to wiggle and sweat to the music.”

With a last look at Will, they headed for the dance floor. Marcus headed to the bar. A pretty brunette had caught his eye, and a little female companionship never went awry.

“Since when are you the delicate flower?” asked Buffy as she sat beside him in the now empty chair.

“Not now,” Will groaned, burrowing his head even further into his folded arms. His headache was now pounding _The Anvil Chorus_ behind his eyes.

“You really should drink some water,” she advised. “If you were thirsty to begin with, you’ll be thirstier now.”

“Mrph.”

Buffy laughed. “Good one, Will.” Her laughter was cut short by a familiar feeling in her neck and belly. Even in her insubstantial state she felt the low-down cramps that signaled a vampire’s presence, and Will’s signature was the familiar tinglies she’d once associated with Spike. This new feeling was similar, but she couldn’t quite place it right away. She quickly scanned the club and saw one of Will’s friends headed out the back door with a tall, thin woman.

In the blink of an eye, she appeared in the alley behind Pearl’s, just in time to see the dreaded familiarity of Drusilla beckoning the boy with fluttering fingers, encouraging him with soft, low-spoken words.

“Just in time for the show, dearie,” she sing-songed into the air before going into game face. “And poor sunshine can’t do a thing to change the outcome.”

Buffy tried. She really, really gave it her all. She concentrated all her energies into solidifying her body, then slammed into the grinning vampire… only to find herself on the other side of the couple with no contact whatsoever.

A quick blip and she was back inside, yelling at Will. “You have to do something! Drusilla is outside and about to feast on one of your friends!”

Will didn’t respond in the slightest. He was obviously sleeping off his headache.

Buffy paced around the table. What could she do? She couldn’t slay, she couldn’t even pull the victims to safety. Nobody could hear her, and the only person who could see her was out cold. In desperation, she popped into Angel’s bedroom at the Hyperion, screaming at the top of her spirity lungs and tried to pull the covers off the bed. She pounded on the mattress to no avail – her hands simply went through. Out of sheer frustration she swiped at a small jar of something on the dresser and hurled it at the hanging mirror, causing it to shatter into sharp, pointy shards. _Oh, thank god!_

Nina bolted upright, wary of intruders. Noting the broken mirror and the jar of face cream on the floor, she shook her husband awake. 

“Angel, wake up,” she shouted, amazed at his ability to sleep through that racket. “Something’s wrong.”

Angel stretched, cracking the sleep out of his neck and shoulders. “What happened?” he asked, noticing the damage.

“This makes no sense. The hotel is warded against intruders, and I don’t sense anyone about, but…”

Spreading his senses, Angel searched for a heartbeat, or a smell to give the trespasser away, but found nothing, either.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, love,” Nina insisted. “This isn’t right. Mirrors just don’t shatter on their own.”

As they watched, Buffy tried her hand again, this time dislodging a bottle of perfume and several makeup brushes.

“Buffy?” The name slipped out of his mouth before Angel could stop it. He remembered the mounted plate torn from the wall of his office years ago by her ire. “Buffy, are you here? Why are you here?”

“Will!” Nina screeched. “Something’s happened to Will! I just know it.”

Angel reached out to his distraught wife. “Calm down, sweetheart. We don’t know anything for certain.”

“That boy rattles on and on about Buffy after all these years, as if she’s actually by his side. If she’s here, then it has something to do with Will,” Nina insisted. “You’ve seen her before,” she said, quietly, an odd look on her face.

“Once, Nina, and that was many years ago,” Angel soothed. He couldn’t help, however, staring intently at the empty space in front of their dresser. A shimmer had begun to coalesce, slowly, into Buffy’s familiar form.

“Oh!” Nina squeaked. “Is… is that her?” At the nod of her husband’s head, she asked, “Buffy… is this about Will? Is he okay?”

Buffy’s lips moved, but no sound issued forth.

Nina slapped the bed in frustration. “Just perfect! She’s here to warn us and can’t speak. Oh god, where is our son?” she cried.

“He said he was going to a dance club… I just can’t remember if he told me the name.” Angel ran his hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

Buffy turned back to the dresser, running her hand through Nina’s belongings. Finally she spied the perfect item to get Will’s location across. She pulled apart the strand of pearls she’d found, and started lobbing them at the bed.

“My necklace!” Nina cried.

“That’s _it!_ ” Angel exclaimed, standing to gather his clothes. “The dance club is named _Pearl_.”

Buffy clapped her ghostly hands silently, relieved she got her point across. With a quick wave, she faded out of sight and headed back to Will’s side. She sat and watched as one-by-one, Drusilla led Will’s friends astray. Ellis followed in Marcus’ footsteps, out into the alley, also never to return. Teri vanished into the ladies room, while Ffion disappeared behind some tall foliage. Buffy stoically kept vigil, willing herself not to cry. “That bitch won’t see me fall apart,” she swore to herself. Blessedly, Will slept on. All hell would break loose when the first body was discovered.

***

The body count was relatively small… just the five other people at Will’s table, a couple from the second table and a guard at the back door. For a Drusilla attack, the death toll was practically negligible, except for the people who died, of course. It was obvious that this was a surgical strike aimed directly at Will.

The police had been called, and yellow tape had been stuck up where the bodies had been found. The deceased lay where they died, bodies covered with tablecloths. Nina and Angel had been shepherded into the manager’s office when they arrived to pick up their son. Will was quiet… too quiet. Buffy could see the fear in his parents’ eyes and her own fears matched theirs.

Will leaned heavily on his father as they walked out to the car. Nina fussed, terrified he’d lose his voice again. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’ll all be fine,” she cooed and stroked his hair from his face. “Whoever did this will pay. Dad and I promise they will.”

“This… this is all _my_ fault,” Will mumbled, tears spilling as he remembered his lost friends; they died tonight only because they knew him.

Angel stopped walking, cupped Will’s chin and looked directly into his eyes. “Don’t you believe that. Not for a single second. This was _my_ fault if it was anyone’s. I’m responsible for turning the lunatic who did this. Me, not you. And _this_ time, I’m going to clean up my mess once and for all. I won’t let her hurt you again.”

“Y-you know who did this?” Will stammered, body shaking from shock.

Nina tucked the blanket the paramedics had given him around his shoulders. “How would you know this, Angel… and why didn’t you tell the police?”

He muttered, “Drusilla.” He shook his head in disgust. “Her stench is everywhere in this place. I should have killed her the last time she threatened Will.”

“Can you find her?” Nina’s voice was shrill with fear. “We can’t have her terrorizing our son!”

“I’ll hunt her down and tear her head off with my bare hands, Nina. This won’t happen again.” Angel held the car door open, and Nina gently settled Will in the back seat before sitting next to him. “Nobody hurts my family and gets away with it.”

As the car roared off into the night, Drusilla stepped out of the shadows in the alley behind Pearl, the corpses of her first three victims as yet undiscovered in the trash bin. “The Angel-beast still thinks he rules the nest and the wolf bares her teeth to protect her young. It’s all for naught in the end. I shall have my Dark Prince back, and he shall care for Princess like he used to. No more pup in need of whelping. Just a little bit longer and we’ll paint the town red as he promised me so very long ago.”

She giggled softly, shaking her curls in the light night breeze. “I will have what’s mine once again. I brought back Grandmother and I’ll have my Willie back and we’ll be a family once again… even without Daddy.”


	64. Torn Asunder

Roused from a deep sleep by a howl of despair, Angel ran into Will’s room to find Nina collapsed in tears on the floor next to the bed.

“What’s wrong? Nina, what’s happened? Is it Will?” Angel asked, needlessly. Nothing else could provoke such a response from his wife.

Nina held up a crumpled piece of paper, her hand shaking so hard it took Angel three tries to retrieve it. _Dear Mom and Dad, I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore…_ the letter began. Angel’s knees buckled and he sat down hard on Will’s bed, phrases jumping out at him: _Too dangerous to stay...endangering family…all my fault… no more deaths because of me… I love you all._.

“How? How can he do this to us, Angel?” Nina’s eyes were full of pain and tears as she clutched her shirt above her heart. “Doesn’t he understand he’s safer here than anywhere else he could go?”

Angel enfolded his distraught wife in his arms, softly stroking her hair. “He’s not thinking of himself, my love. He’s worried about Liam and Bethany, Connor and Dawn; all the people he loves. He hasn’t been able to move on since the deaths of his friends.”

“He’s already quit college,” Nina sniffled against Angel’s chest. “How much more does that boy have to endure?”

***

The past few weeks, Will had seen more suffering than most people would have known existed, but he knew it all too well. He’d gone to the first two funerals held for his friends; his already-broken heart was shredded just a little bit more by the looks of sorrow mixed with anger from the families. Why had he survived when their loved ones were dead? He wished he had an answer.

He might not have been starving, or without a roof over his head… before. He guessed there was always something left to learn… to lose.

Will huddled in the corner of an abandoned third-floor apartment on the sleazy side of town. He’d rolled up his cash earlier in one of his t-shirts and hidden it in a hole in the wall, just in case he got mugged. He clutched his guitar to his body, softly strumming a sad melody. It wasn’t the wisest thing he could have done… making noise and possibly attracting attention to himself, but it was soothing, and his nerves were jangled enough.

Earlier that morning, his father had called his cell and begged Will to come home; for his own sake, for his mother’s sake… it was humbling to hear Angel reduced to such a state, but Will hardened his heart. He told his father if he tried to have him followed, he would leave the state. “I’m all right, Dad. I can take care of myself. You and Mom don’t have to worry about me, and now I don’t have to worry about you and the rest of the family,” he said, voice cracking.

With a lump in his throat, and an air of finality, Will threw his phone to the ground, and stomped it into little pieces. His last link to home and hearth was gone, and he felt oddly lighter for it. He was fairly sure he would make it if he were totally on his own, but…

There was Buffy. There was always Buffy. Through thick and thin, through hell and back, she was always by his side. It was his one saving grace. He was never totally alone. Will might be able to run from his family and friends, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t run from his girl. His Buffy. He remembered the physical ache he suffered when she refused to see him, and was profoundly grateful he wouldn’t be able to shake her now.

She was sitting besides him now, close enough to him to feel the ‘tinglies’, her eyes closed, smiling along with his music. Will wished he could gather her up in his arms. Since he couldn’t, however, he wished for a way to soothe himself to sleep quickly, instead of lying awake for hours at a time, staring at the stained walls, and the mildewed ceiling.

A sharp rap at the door startled both Will and Buffy.

“You’re not expecting anyone, Will. Make sure you don’t invite them in,” Buffy warned.

“I’m not that stupid,” he retorted. “You forget how I grew up.” With that, he put down his guitar and rose from the floor, calling out: “Who’s there?”

Instead of a reply, the door crashed open, falling to the floor as the rotted wood made the hinges give way. There, standing at the threshold, was…

“Drusilla!” echoed both Will and Buffy.

“How nice of you to remember who I am,” the vampire sing-songed as she swayed into the apartment.

“Oh, shit,” Will backed up. Obviously the PTB didn’t consider the sanctity of a threshold in a place Will didn’t actually own. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Will, be careful,” Buffy warned. “She may be loony, but she’s very dangerous.”

“Sunshine speaks the truth,” acknowledged Drusilla, “but she can’t keep my Willie-boy away from me now. Old enough and strong enough to take care of Princess now.”

“I don’t want to have anything to do with you, much less take care of you, you crazy old bat.” Will tried to back away slowly, only to have Drusilla grab hold of his chin and wrench his gaze to hers.

“Look into my eyes, my Dark Prince,” Drusilla crooned. “Be in me.”

“Drop your gaze, Will,” Buffy pleaded. “Try to avoid looking into her eyes. She’s got thrall.”

It was too late. Will stood transfixed, barely even breathing as the crazy vampire danced and whirled about him, arms weaving strange patterns in the air.

“You’re my bad dog,” she said, tenderly stroking Will’s cheek. “Born to smash and bite. You were always mine, and always will be. Your pesky light will fly, and we’ll be free to wreak bloody havoc once more.” Her jaws snapped shut as she growled, looking like the predator she was… feral.

Buffy could do nothing but stare in horror, as Will’s seemingly imminent turning played out before her eyes.

Drusilla bent her head and licked a swath up the side of Will’s neck, before the familiar crunch of bone and cartilage heralded her demon emerging, and the elongated fangs that spelled doom for the young man. Before she could sink them into his carotid artery, however, Will leaned forward, and then snapped his head back into Drusilla’s nose.

With a shriek, she let go of Will, watching in surprise as he bolted from the room, out of the apartment and thundered down the stairs. Drusilla sneered at Buffy, who gave a triumphant fist pump into the air. “The time will come again, Sunshine,” she gloated “and the lamb won’t escape the blackberry patch forever.” She clicked her teeth together and her eyes twinkled feverishly. “The thorns will catch on his fine skin and he’ll bleed pretty colors for me once more.”

Drusilla’s words hung in the air as she turned on her heel and waltzed across the broken threshold.

***

Buffy blinked to Will’s side as he wandered along the dirty alleys, trying to clear his head after the crazed vampire’s appearance. “Are you okay?” she asked, grateful that Drusilla hadn’t managed to rip into his neck.

“Fine, I guess,” Will huffed, not even looking at her. “I mean, I’ve gotten what I wanted… kept that loony bitch away from my family, but it’s still unnerving to have her come after me. I don’t know how she even found me.”

Buffy shrugged, because the truth was that she really didn’t know how. “Drusilla might be loony, but she has some kind of second sight – she used to commune with the stars or pixies or some such. It’s what always made her unpredictable and scary. I – I wish I could keep her from hurting you, Will.”

“I had a feeling she was gonna find me no matter where I went,” he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. “I’m just hoping I won’t have to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

“Look at what we’ve got here, guys.”

Will jerked to attention and found himself looking at a trio of ragged-looking men blocking the way in front of him.

“What kind of freak walks around talking to himself?” the middle guy in the red plaid jacket asked his friend to his left. 

“Dunno,” sneered Ripped Jeans. “Looks like he’s loaded. We could help with that, don’cha think?”

“I’m thinking we should send the brat home to his mama,” the third man retorted, smacking a fist into his other hand. “But not before we teach him a lesson.”

Will straightened his shoulders, standing as tall as he could. “What’d I ever do to you guys?” he sighed, hoping they’d just leave him alone. How much more would he have to deal with today?

“Enough of your lip, smart ass,” spat Plaid Jacket. “Just hand over any money ya got and ya won’t get hurt.”

“Yeah, right,” Will mumbled mostly to himself.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Will,” Buffy pleaded. “Remember the first rule of slaying and survival is ‘don’t die.’ There’s no shame in running when the odds are against you.” Unfortunately, Buffy could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was bracing for a fight. She’d seen that posture often enough in Spike.

A Spike-like sneer lit his face at Buffy’s words. “I don’t have any money,” Will said, chin up, shoulders squared, staring defiantly at the men who’d accosted him. “I’ve got nothing left for you to take from me, so if you wanna fight, come and get me.”

The three men split up, surrounding Will. One by one they took turns throwing punches and backing away. Will managed to dodge most of them, as the men were somewhat clumsy and slow… and more than a little inebriated. Unfortunately, they soon got frustrated and attacked at the same time. Will was unable to throw them all off and was soon overpowered. Plaid Jacket landed a powerful uppercut to Will’s chin, decking him and knocking him unconscious.

“Hurry up, man,” Ripped Jeans hissed.

Plaid Jacket rifled through Will’s pockets, and finding nothing whatsoever, kicked his inert body, hard; there was a muffled crack as a rib broke. “Dude wasn’t kidding when he said he had nothing.” He shrugged, kicking Will one more time for good measure. “Let’s go. This isn’t worth getting caught for.”

Buffy watched the three as they retreated down the block and into another alley. “There has got to be a better way,” she murmured to herself. “How many more times am I going to have to stand by, helpless, as you get hurt?” she cried, attempting to shake him awake.

She sat on the floor next to the unconscious young man, ghosting her hand over his head, taking in the bruise blossoming on his jaw. “Poor baby,” she whispered. “If only there was something I could do for you.”

Suddenly, Buffy snapped to attention, her Slayer sense going wild. She looked around, praying that whatever was watching Will wouldn’t hurt him. A sharp whistle broke the silence and Buffy focused her attention in its direction.

Standing just behind her was a group of five very tall demons holding covered baskets. Red-eyed, snake-like scales for skin… Buffy tried to remember where she’d seen them before, but failed. The leader put down its basket and sniffed the air before it started a slow approach.

“We-il,” he said, before holding his hand under Will’s nose. Obviously satisfied that he was still alive, the red-eyed demon looked around. “Bu-fee?” he called out, much to her surprise.

 _Huh? Oh. Oh!_ “Whistler!” Buffy exclaimed, relieved. “Wow, have you grown since I last saw you. You can see me?”

Looking in every direction except hers, Buffy figured he couldn’t. She did remember he could feel her touch, so she put all her concentration into tapping his shoulder, and was rewarded with a big, toothy smile.

Whistler put his basket down, securing the lid when a cat almost managed to escape, much to Buffy’s chagrin. He made several melodic sounds, handed the basket to one of his companions who then departed and said, “Take We-il home,” He scooped him up with his arms. “Needs help.”

Buffy sighed in relief, touching the Rumpari on the shoulder again, and then blinked out.

***

_“Angel!!!”_

Nina’s sharp cry brought everyone in earshot to the Hyperion’s lobby. Standing just inside the door was a six-and-a-half foot tall Rumpari holding the body of her son.

“We-il hurt,” he said to Nina. “Bring home,” he said to Angel as he rushed to Nina’s side.

Gently, Angel slid his arms under Will’s body and cradled him to his chest.

“Oh god, Angel… his poor face!” Nina softly tousled Will’s hair, and then softly stroked the skin over his bruised jaw. “But… he’s home! Thank god he’s home with us again.”

“Call Dr. Br’zzic. See if he’d be willing to make a house call.” Angel laid his boy down on the sofa and turned to the Rumpari. “Whistler?” he asked, amazed that he remembered the name of the little demon they’d rescued all those years ago.

Whistler trilled an affirmative.

“I can’t thank you enough, man,” Angel said, extending his hand to the Rumpari, who grasped it carefully in his own hand, claws retracted. “Can I get you anything? Do you need…?”

“I go home now,” Whistler replied, shaking his head. “Still need catch dinner. Tell We-il feel good.” He stopped to warble a few moments with Hugh, before leaving.

As the door closed, Hugh, Charlotte and Bethany gathered around Nina, followed by Connor and Dawn closing ranks around Will.

Buffy sighed and wiped her eyes, wishing more than anything she could be part of the family… could be there to share in the pain and joy and worry with her baby sister, who was now a good many years older than her, and everyone else. All she could do was wait and watch and pray that the Doctor would be able to take care of her Will and that all would be well. At least for this week.

“One day,” she swore. “One day.”


	65. Moving On

In the solitude of his room, Will stared at his computer screen. The Google logo blinked with multi-colored lights woven into it heralding the holiday season. His fingers twitched over the keys, hesitating. With a sigh of resignation, he quickly typed in a name.

Alexander Harris. Xander Harris, as Buffy knew him.

For some reason, the one-eyed man had been haunting his dreams, and he felt the need to do something. Unfortunately, talking to his parents or even to Buffy didn’t seem like viable options.

There were several pages of results, none of the Harris descriptions matched the man he was looking for until he came across a newspaper article. “Mr. Alexander Harris, forty-three years old, released from prison after serving seven years for complicity in the kidnapping and torture of… blah, blah, blah. The rest of the words faded into meaningless drivel before Will’s eyes. A quick skim of the article revealed the information he needed, and a few more clicks led to the address he had sought. The man, designated a child molester, was forced to report his status wherever he moved to. He was now located in… Ventura!

“This has to mean something,” Will murmured. “He’s only about an hour away. I don’t even have to tell the ‘rents what I’m doing.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Buffy’s voice in his ear startled Will. He’d been so engrossed in thought that he hadn’t felt her presence at all. He thought for a moment before answering. 

“Yeah, Buffy. I think I do. I _know_ I do. I have to.”

“At least I’ll be with you.”

Will looked at her heartfelt expression and sighed, knowing he was going to hurt her. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl, but this is something I have to do on my own. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

She cupped his chin, her barely felt presence a comfort. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, Will. But you don’t have to go through this alone. You know I’m as here for you as I can be.”

He nodded, but firmly said, “Any other time I would love to have you with me, Buffy, but not this time. I need to face him alone. Even though I know he won’t see you, I’ll feel different. Not really sure what direction our conversation will go in… if he’ll even talk with me… but I have to try.”

Watching as the brief look of hurt crossed her expression, Will held his hand up, fingers splayed. After a brief double-take, Buffy matched her hand to his, and he felt a slight warmth along with the little tingle he always felt.

“What’s wrong, Buffy?” he asked, noticing the slightly disappointed look on her face. “What were you expecting, sparks? Fire?”

And there was a second double-take.

“I – I… Maybe after this thing with Xander is over, I’ll tell you about it,” Buffy sighed. “This just isn’t the right time to get into it.”

Will nodded. “This is about Spike, isn’t it?” he asked.

A small, indelicate snort made Will laugh. “Nice to see you didn’t lose your insightfulness in this incarnation,” she said, looking at him fondly. “Always at an inopportune time, too.”

“I’m gonna hold you to your promise, you know.”

This time it was Buffy’s turn to laugh. “I don’t doubt it at all.”

***

Xander sat in the middle of his livingroom, eying his latest driftwood creation-in-progress. If he angled his head just right, his perception wasn’t hampered by his missing eye. Now, if only he could also miss the damned arthritis in his knees and fingers, he would be a happier man.

These days he was just grateful for his freedom. Even though they were no longer close, Willow had finally gone to the Council’s authorities and raided Roger Wyndham Pryce’s lab complex for the detailed notes he’d left behind. They went a long way towards getting him an earlier release.

He put down his work, and turned his face to the window, basking in the sun like a cat. The sharp knock at his door startled him. The only visits he got were from delivery men, and he hadn’t ordered anything, materials or food lately.

“Coming,” he said, gathering his cane from the floor before getting up. “Hold your horses,” he added in a louder voice when the knock sounded again.

“Holy moly… Spike?” An unmanly squeak he’d forever deny making erupted as he took a step back. “No, wait… Will? Is that you?”

The young man stood still, taking stock of Xander. Xander knew from staring into the mirror to shave every morning exactly what the lad saw – an aging man with a slight hunch in posture, long hair pulled back in a low ponytail – more salt than pepper, leaning heavily on a cane topped with a wooden Tweety Bird. Not the most glamorous he’d ever been – or, to be honest, mature – look. The boy stood there, not saying a word for so long, Xander wondered if he’d reverted to being non-verbal.

“You gonna stare at me all day, or are you gonna invite me in?”

Xander’s Sunnydale brain sat up and took notice. “Are you a vamp again? But you can’t be… standing outside in the sun. Unless you’re a daywalker. Or a new-fangled kind of vamp…”

Will rolled his eyes at the babbling, and stepped across the threshold, settling the matter in one easy step.

“Oookay, then,” Xander muttered, looking at the boy. No, not a boy, a young man well on his way to becoming the spitting image of the vampire he knew so long ago, though with darker, more natural looking hair. “Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”

After a slight hesitation, Will said, “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a very familiar gesture, Xander noted.

He, too, felt a touch of the heebie-jeebies. “Look, kid…” he started, staring down at the floor.

“Stop!” Agitation was clear in Will’s face. “I know I didn’t come here for an apology. First of all, it’s just words. Second, I’ve had lots of time and plenty of therapy trying to deal with the whole mess. Nothing you can say will change what’s been done in the past.”

“I know, but…”

“No, really,” Will continued. “I guess… well, I guess I wanted to thank you.”

Xander was floored. “Huh?” was the only intelligible thing he could come up with.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Will asked, and was motioned to an overstuffed easy chair opposite the sofa. “I don’t remember much of the end of the whole ordeal, but I do remember you there. You did try and help me; to offer some comfort.”

“Gods, kid.” Xander put his head in his hands. “If I’d had any idea what that bastard was gonna do… if I’d had any idea that his “dangerous demon” was only a human child, I would have done anything I could have to stop him.”

“Even knowing it was me?” Xander could see the naked curiosity and trepidation in Will’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted, as much to himself as to Will. “I was so angry back then. I hated you – well, the thought of you, anyway. Seeing you, actually holding onto you, hit me in a way that words never did. And the sheer hatred from Wyndham Pryce was nauseating.”

Will chewed his bottom lip, as if debating his next words. “Well, for what it’s worth, I-I forgive you for being a part of that whole mess.” He, too, stared down at the floor. It was obviously hard to look Xander in the face.

“As long as we’re both in the forgiving zone, are you curious as to why I look like a pirate?” For some reason, Xander wanted to reassure the kid… tell him something good.

“I guess,” Will replied, looking up.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of Buffy… the vampire slayer, right?”

Will nodded, definitely curious as to where Xander was going.

“Me and Willow and sometimes Spike used to go out and dust vampires with Buffy, back when we lived in Sunnydale. During one of our annual apocalypses, we ran into a madman – Caleb.” Xander rubbed his eyepatch as he talked; a slight pain had begun to build in the socket.

“We were outmatched that time, and Caleb was demonically strong… he caught me and shoved his thumb into my eye.”

Looking a little green, Will covered his mouth.

“The only reason I can see at all,” Xander continued, “is that you – Spike, saved me. He carried the guilt around for days that he wasn’t fast enough to save both my eyes.”

“Thank you for that.” Finally looking Xander in the eye, Will asked, “You used to be close friends with Buffy, right? Can you tell me about her… about Buffy?”

A little startled by the non-sequitur, Xander muttered. “It’s always about the Buffster, isn’t it? Is there anything in particular you want to know?”

Will thought for a moment, and then said, “Anything. About what she was like, _what_ she liked.”

“So I guess there’s no good news on breaking that statue spell?

“Not yet.”

“Damn,” Xander swore. “Where to start, where to start… Buffy was the new girl in school, and it was like the heavens opened, and an angel fluttered down. She was all girl, and even talked to the ‘uncool’ kids without making them feel like dirt.”

Will was looking at him now in rapt attention.

“Turns out, not only was she all girl,” Xander continued, “but she was all gladiator, too! Thanks to Buffy, Willow and I discovered the shiny, happy world of vampires and demons. And the fact that our school librarian was her Watcher. We both used to help Buffy do her thing on patrol.”

“So she was okay with you putting yourselves in danger?”

Xander thought for a minute. “Well, I guess you can say we didn’t exactly ask her. She sorta saved Willow’s life, and I ended up killing one of my best friends who had been turned. After that, we just kinda hung out together. Whither she wentest, we followedest. And yes, before you ask, there were injuries a-plenty.”

“Like the eye business.”

Xander nodded. “That was the worst of it,” he admitted.

Now it was Will’s turn to think. “So why did you stay with her? What was it about her that made you put yourselves at risk?”

“Buffy was good. She was righteous without becoming preachy. She always flew under the radar, never asking for credit as she battled to keep Sunnydale safe for humanity, and ended up saving the world quite a few times.” Xander smiled. “What about that _doesn’t_ inspire love and loyalty?”

“Huh,” was all Will said.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Geeze Louise, I’m awfully popular today,” Xander said, and got up to see who was there.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Harris. I’m Officer McMurtry.”

“And to what do I owe this great pleasure?” Xander asked, warily.

“One of your neighbors called in a complaint – said you had an under-aged boy in the house and they were worried for his safety, what with your designated status.”

“I – I…”

Will spoke up as Xander floundered for words. “Excuse me, Officer. My name is William Dowell, and I’m eighteen and a half, thank you – not under-aged. Besides, I’m visiting Mr. Harris of my own free will and all we’re doing was talking. He’s not a threat to me in the slightest.”

“I’ll need to see your I.D., Mr. Dowell, although it is a relief to know there’s nothing funny going on,” the officer said.

“And what would happen if the man and I were in a consensual relationship?” Will’s ire was growing by the second. “Would you still rush over and butt into his business? Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“Whoa, son. Calm yourself down.” Officer McMurtry handed Will back his I.D. “When a complaint comes in against a registered sex offender, we’re obligated to check it out. Better a few minutes of an uncomfortable situation than an injured child.”

“But…”

Xander put up a hand to stop him. “It’s okay, Will. What’s a little indignity? At least I have my freedom.” He turned to the policeman. “Anything else I can do for you, Officer?”

“That’ll be all, Mr. Harris. Sorry to have disturbed you and your guest, but you understand…”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Xander ushered the officer out of his house and locked the door. When he turned, he asked Will, “Why did you stand up for me?”

“Well, I know the truth, for starters, and I _hate_ being labeled, Will said. “A person should be able to be seen as an individual, not one of _those_ , whatever _those_ are.”

Xander nodded. “I’ve been accused of thought like that. Did it to you… Spike, often enough.”

“And yet, here we are,” Will mused. “Where do we go from here?”

“On, I guess,” said Xander. “There really aren’t many other choices. Wallowing in the past is nothing but self-destructive. Believe me, I know it first-hand.”

Standing up, Will nodded his head in agreement. “Guess that’s all there is to say. Time for me to get home and you to go back to whatever it is that you do.”

“What you did, coming here, means a lot to me,” said Xander. “Can I get you anything, first? A nice, frosty nectar?”

At the proffered beer bottle, Will shook his head. “Two things,” he said. “First, still got a couple of years left before that would be legal, but more importantly, I wouldn’t drink before driving. I’d appreciate some water, though.”

Sorry, kiddo, I wasn’t thinking.” Xander hung his head just a little, snorting at the realization that Will was more responsible than he was at his tender age. And definitely as _unlike_ Spike as could be, at least in one aspect. He took out a pitcher of ice water and handed Will the legal frosty libation.

“Thanks,” Will said, downing it quickly. “Time to head for home. It’s time to move on for us both.”

With those final words, Will headed for the door, Xander following right behind. He got into his car, buckled his seat belt and rolled down the window. “Merry Christmas,” he said with a small nod of his head, and backed out of the driveway, heading for home.

Xander stood outside long after Will’s car faded from sight, smiling, and for the first time in ages, his heart lifted.


	66. An Aha Moment

Will’s mind wasn’t exactly set on the Tai Chi moves his father was displaying to his left. He was, however, watching closely the same moves exhibited by Buffy, to his right. Gods, but she was gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that during one complicated maneuver, Will’s center of balance was off, and he lost his footing. He landed on his ass, his father’s hiss of disapproval sounding loudly in his ears.

“What’s the matter with you, Will? You wanted me to teach you, and I’m trying my best to be patient, but your mind seems to wander. You need discipline if you ever hope to gain control of your own body, moreso your enemies.”

“Dad, this is just boring!” Will rolled his eyes, as he let his father help him up off the floor. “I’d rather spar. I need to move,” he said, as he bounced on the balls of his feet, circling Angel. His smile matched Buffy’s amusement.

Angel sighed. “You don’t want to do this, son. We need to work on the basics before getting into the contact part of fighting. Just because you’re stronger than human doesn’t mean you’ll automatically win a fight.”

Will practically growled. “Damn it! We’ve been working on _”the basics”_ for more than six months. Who are you to tell me what I want? I’m not a little boy anymore.” He threw a couple of test jabs, not really intended to make contact.

“It’s not like you’ve been doing anything else with your time. You’ve turned into a sloth – you do nothing all day but bury your nose in that damned computer.”

“Who else’s life do you want me to put in danger? It’s bad enough I’m here with all of you. Now come on, old man… time to move your creaky bones.”

With a roll of his eyes, Angel fell into a fighting stance. “Fine, boyo. You wanna do this? Bring it on.”

Will whooped with delight, and began jabbing in earnest. Right, left, left, and then a small flurry, only one in a dozen making contact with his father.  
Angel, on the other hand, laid tap after tap on Will; no power behind his fists. Will became increasingly annoyed. His father’s crooked half-smile tipped Will over from frustration to anger.

“This isn’t fair, Dad,” he groused, pissed off at himself for sounding so infantile. “You outweigh me by half a ton, and King Kong would envy your reach.”

“Don’t forget, you asked for this, kiddo,” Angel said, laying another tap on the back of Will’s head. “I tried to talk you out of it.”

“Will,” Buffy called out. “While he’s talking, he’s leaving himself open. Take advantage of it. And don’t drop your right shoulder.”

Because Will was focused on Buffy, Angel managed to take his feet out from under him and once again his ass made contact with the hard wooden floor. Annoyed with himself, Will focused inwardly, determined not to make a fool of himself yet again, and unloaded a right cross with all the strength he could muster.

This time it was Angel who hit the ground in stunned surprise.

***

Angel glared his son with mixed feelings. Pride, because he managed to knock him off his feet, and irritation, because… well, because! He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was that got under his skin, but it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, or a pebble in his shoe.

From his vantage point, he sat and watched as Will danced around as if performing for someone.

“Buffy,” he muttered. “It has to be.”

“What did you say?” Will asked, walking over to offer his father a hand up.

“Buffy,” Angel repeated. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Well, yeah,” said Will, the _duh!_ obvious to anyone who had eyes. “She’s pretty much with me twenty-four-seven.”

For a moment, Angel’s eyes flared amber, an unreasonable flash of jealousy left him feeling unsettled. Worse, as he didn’t know who he was more jealous of, Will… or Buffy.

“What’s with the vamp eyes?” Will asked. “You can’t be pissed off ‘cause I finally managed to land one on you.”

With a shake of his head, Angel’s eyes reverted to their usual chocolate brown. He must be slipping… he hadn’t even known he was that close to vamping out. He took a long, hard look at his son. Will was built lean, but his shoulders had recently broadened, accentuating his slim waist and hips. His face was losing the last of his baby fat, and those infamous cheekbones set off a pair of sparkling blue eyes. Will’s hair – so beautifully tousled at the moment – light brown curls with natural blond highlights. Truly an angel, yet the spitting image of the devil, himself. Spike… or rather, William when he was first turned.

Angel found himself longing for the once-bane of his existence with a need he didn’t believe himself capable of. And the intense sorrow that he was gone for good.

“Dad… Dad!”

Angel blinked. Will stood in front of him, snapping his fingers by his ears.

“Where’d you go? I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes.” The concern in his boy’s eyes was palpable. “Did I hit you too hard? Are you brain damaged?”

“Sorry, son. I was thinking about some… thing.” Angel accepted Will’s hand up, though he really didn’t need it. “I’m fine, really. I barely felt a thing. A little love tap, that’s all.”

Wrong words. Angel saw Will’s expression cloud over as he backed away. Why couldn’t he do anything right anymore where his son was concerned?

At that moment, the door opened and Nina peeked her head in. “How’re my two favorite men in the world doing?”

She was greeted with a sullen grunt from her son and a bemused look from her husband.

“Things not go so well with the Tai Chi?” she asked.  
Will threw the towel he’d used to wipe the sweat from his neck into the hamper. “I’ve had it, Mom. No more of this posturing for me. I’ll be in my room,” he said, stomping out of the gym.

“Was it something I said?” Nina looked to her husband for an answer.

Angel sadly shook his head. “It wasn’t you, love. I honestly don’t know what to do with Will. Ever since… well, ever since he came back, he’s become reclusive and argumentative. He hardly talks to the family. Bethany is at a loss, Charlotte can’t draw him into a discussion… even Dawn and Connor can barely make eye contact with him for more than a couple of minutes at a time.”

“Do you think he’d be willing to talk to Lorne again?”

Angel ran his hand through his hair, a sure sign he was unsettled. “I’ve asked him about it, and all he says is that he doesn’t need to see Lorne; that he’s fine on his own.”

“It hurts a mother’s heart to see her child so closed off.” Nina wrapped her arms around Angel’s waist and sighed. “There has to be something we can do to help snap him out of this.”

“Maybe _we_ should talk to Lorne,” Angel’s answering sigh shuddered through both bodies. “Obviously we’re in over our heads. It’s not like we can bribe Will with an ice cream cone anymore. He’s a young man with some devastating issues. Even youthful resilience can only be stretched so far.”

Disengaging from Angel’s embrace, Nina began to pace back and forth across the room. Her brow furrowed, she mumbled, “There has to be something… anything… we have to help him.” She stopped suddenly, slowly turning to her husband. “We can’t help him,” she said slowly drawing out the syllables. “We can’t – but he _can_ help himself!”

Angel looked at his wife as if she’d lost her mind. “Are you nuts? Don’t you see the way he drags himself around the house? What more can he do that he hasn’t done in these past months on his own?”

“It’s here, don’t you see? Staying here, with us, is what’s keeping him from doing the one thing he needs to do – grow up. Become an adult!”

“But we’re not stopping him.” Angel rolled his eyes, frustrated almost beyond his tolerance. “Anything he wants to do, we’ll support him.”

“I don’t know what your parents did during your teenaged years, sweetheart, but in my day,” Nina said, cupping Angel’s chin and turning his face towards hers. “In my day, parents used to send their kids off to Europe for a year between high school and college. Not everyone was ready to settle in for another four years of education. Not everyone had a clue as to what they wanted out of life, because they’d hardly lived life at all.”

Angel nodded slowly before answering. “I remember my parents had often discussed sending me to England, to polish my manners and make me more well-rounded. Of course, the real nobs, the aristocracy and the like, sent their boys off on the Grand Tour, with tutors and servants in tow. The tales they had to tell… Ah well, it all became moot when I failed to live up to their ideals… and then became a monster in a dark alley.”

“But Will is everything we could wish for in a son… and more,” said Nina, brushing Angel’s regrets away with the wave of her hand. “And while we don’t have tutors or servants, I’m sure we can get someone to accompany Will… someone who could introduce him around, and make sure he was safe.”

“I can hear it now. “Damn it, I don’t need a babysitter!" How are we gonna swing something like this without upsetting Will?”

Nina smiled at her husband. “Lorne. We could ask Lorne if he’d be willing to ‘chaperone’ Will. After all, we know he wants what we all want – Will happy and healthy, mentally and physically. And it's not like a clinical setting that Will would object to. We can talk to him. Feel him out and see what he can do. He must have contacts all over the world. It’s a better idea than leaving Will to waste away, right?”

Angel answered her question with a kiss. Looking deep into her eyes, he knew he was a lucky vampire to have such a wise wife.

“Anywhere but Rome,” were his last words on the subject.


End file.
